Missing
by ficscribbler
Summary: Marguerite goes missing after Ned is seriously injured while on an excursion with her.


**Missing**

Summary: _Marguerite goes missing_ _after Ned is seriously injured while on an excursion with her._

Disclaimer: _The Lost World does not belong to me. *regretful sigh* It belongs to Coote/Hayes, the Over the Hill Gang, New Line Television, et al. …_

Author's Note: _This story is set in the first half of Season Three, some time after "The Knife" but before "Hollow Victory". _

_**Dedication**_: _To Zakiyah and DNash,_ w_ith heartfelt gratitude for your patient input, corrections, and many fine additions to the original dialogue and scenes. Without your contributions, "Missing" would have been missing too much to be worth posting. Any remaining errors are definitely mine.  
_

***************

"Come on, Neddy-boy," she panted, using Roxton's affectionate nickname for their fellow explorer. "You can do it! It isn't much further now!" The slender brunette sagged, her own strength waning as she continued to bear the weight of the American journalist.

Ned blinked at her, trying valiantly to focus beyond the haze that clouded his vision and the pain that sheared through him at every breath.

"Come on!" she coaxed breathlessly yet again. "Veronica is there -" She tugged with the arm she had securely wrapped around his waist, and managed to get him two more steps forward.

"-Ronica," he mumbled.

"Yes . . ." Marguerite clung tighter to the limp hand of the blond man where it dangled over her shoulder. Her lungs were on fire from the effort of breathing with Ned sagging so heavily against her. She risked a desperate look ahead and could have cheered at the sight of the electric fence. _Finally! Much longer and we'd have had nighttime predators to deal with, too._

She nearly lost her balance as Ned staggered and tilted again, but the tenacious brunette kept to her feet through sheer will power. "_Think_, Neddy-boy!" she grunted between gasps for breath, looking anxiously at the ashen face so near her own. "Remember - the Pulitzer - when you publish - your book!" she pleaded urgently, fighting the trembling of her own limbs as Ned wavered uncertainly. "Veronica - will be - so - _proud_ of you!"

She had goaded him on for the last two hours with just such tactics - a combination of bullying, coaxing, and bribes - and it worked again now. The idea of impressing their jungle hostess rated another half-dozen determined-if-wobbly steps toward home and help before Ned lost his precarious focus and equilibrium, his eyes rolling as consciousness began to fade yet again.

"NED!" When the fading American's head didn't snap up at her sharp tone, Marguerite thought despairingly that it was finally over. _I'll never be able to keep us upright on my own, and I'll never get Ned up again if he topples over now._

Then a wonderfully familiar voice shouted their names.

She looked up, bracing herself and weaving to counter-balance Ned's swaying stance, gritting her teeth with the effort. She saw the others coming at a full run through the mist of dusk as the sun sank below the horizon. "John - Ned's hurt -" she managed breathlessly as the tall hunter reached them well ahead of the others.

The British lord's anxious dark green eyes scanned Marguerite quickly. Reassured by the smile she summoned for his benefit and the fact that she was still on her feet, he focused his attention on the younger man. He deftly lifted Ned into his strong arms, his handsome features tightening in alarm as the fair-haired man went completely limp. Roxton turned and strode away, his long legs eating up the ground back to the Treehouse before Challenger and Veronica could reach Marguerite. The lean scientist pivoted on his heel and joined Roxton, attempting to analyze Ned's condition along the way so he could decide what medical supplies he would need from his lab.

Veronica hesitated only briefly, then continued to the brunette's side. She reached out a steadying hand to Marguerite when the older woman slumped to her knees after the sudden removal of her burden. Yet even as she knelt at Marguerite's side she couldn't keep her worried blue eyes from glancing back over her shoulder after the men.

Marguerite knew how she would feel if it were Roxton in that unstable condition. Sympathetically, the exhausted dark-haired beauty found the inner reserves to muster another smile and waved a dismissive bloodstained hand. Her gruffly spoken "Go" was all it took to send Veronica hastening after the others.

Marguerite took a deep breath, then winced at the ache her foolhardy action caused in her side. She made a mental note: _Don't inhale quite so deeply for a few days_. She stayed on her knees for several moments until the pain had subsided to levels she could sustain. Then, gathering her remaining strength, she lurched to her feet. The battered brunette grimly smiled to herself, realizing she had been using Ned as a prop for her own balance almost as much as she had been holding him up.

She stood still for a long moment, gauging the distance to the Treehouse against her scant strength, and sighed as she realized she shouldn't have sent Veronica ahead. She needed help, but her friends were already ascending to the Treehouse in the elevator_. I doubt I can even get a deep enough breath to yell for help!_ She snorted in derision at having allowed a tender impulse to overtake common sense_. Good going, Marguerite! What a time to stop thinking about your own survival!_ _Well, you're on your own this time, so think fast. It's almost dark and you're a sitting duck outside the fence._

As much as she disliked the idea, the only way she could think of to traverse the distance alone was to use a crutch, and there was only one thing handy to serve her needs. Gingerly keeping her movements slow and carefully measured, Marguerite untangled her rifle from her backpack. She heaved a sigh of self-disdain as she leaned on the weapon to stay on her feet, progressing slowly toward the safety of the electric fence. With her usual single-minded determination, she moved forward one step at a time, refusing to allow herself to rest until she had succeeded in reaching the inside of the enclosure. The tightlipped brunette latched the gate without conscious thought as she took a moment to re-gather her strength for the final distance she needed to cross. Worried about Ned's condition, Marguerite pushed on, limping awkwardly but steadily toward the elevator, glad there would be no delay since Veronica had considerately sent it back down for her_. Just keep putting one foot before the other until you get up there where you can check on Ned_, she told herself. _Time enough to rest after_.

The other three had made a good start at treating Ned by the time Marguerite made it up into the lofty structure and to the reporter's chamber. She leaned against the frame of the door into his room, still defying the pain and her own exhaustion as her gray-green eyes sought out evidence of the actions taken by her friends thus far. They had already stripped away the remnants of Ned's shirt and trousers, which were now discarded well out of the way on the floor beneath the writing table. Marguerite had passed Roxton on the upper level while he was building up the fire, and she could hear Veronica muttering unintelligibly to herself down the hall in one of the supply rooms. Only the tall lean scientist was with Ned, bent over the journalist as he proceeded with the process of more carefully removing the combination of plant leaves and cloth strips that comprised the makeshift bandages.

"How is he, George?" Marguerite asked softly, unwilling to leave the support of the doorjamb.

Challenger shrugged his broad shoulders without looking up, too absorbed in his task to formulate a verbal answer.

"Excuse me," Veronica murmured distractedly as she brushed past Marguerite. Her arms were laden with medical supplies, which she carried over and unceremoniously dumped onto Ned's desktop. Tending one another's injuries was not an uncommon activity; they had each endured their share of rashes, cuts, burns, stings, and bites. But the jungle-raised woman was shaken by the way the young American's blood had seeped through bandages on his chest, his arms, his legs, and his back. No one in the family had sustained such extensive injuries before. She chewed on her lip nervously, joining the man of science at the bedside. _How could a day that began so nicely end so horribly? When they headed out this morning they were both smiling . . . Ned told me he was going to do everything possible to get along with Marguerite while they were out together. How did it end up with Ned looking like this?!_

"I can't believe he was still conscious and on his feet, he's lost so much blood . . ." Challenger muttered to himself as he continued to remove the sodden bandages, passing them to Veronica to put aside.

"Look out, Marguerite!" Roxton sudden terse warning as he came down the hall startled and almost overset the slim brunette.

Looking back over her shoulder, she was taken aback by the depth of dread evident on his handsome face. His stride was full of urgency, and he was in such a rush that he barely even waited for her to ease out of the way before he proceeded into the chamber with a basin full of water. "Got it, George, and there's a pot over the fire to warm plenty more. I also left a knife heating in the flame in case we need to do any cauterizing."

Marguerite clutched at the massive doorpost to remain upright after the tall hunter had pushed past her, then regarded the oblivious man with a hurt frown. _He didn't even give me a second look! The least he could do is offer a token show of concern for my well being!_ Such a lack of consideration was unlike John. In fact, it wasn't normal for any of them to let her just stand there without even a polite gesture at examination or questions_._ _What's happening here that I'm not seeing?_ Puzzled, she watched them cluster around the bed. The only explanation she could imagine for their neglect of her was that Ned's talon gashes must have torn open more - however, it didn't look like they had even uncovered the most dire ones yet_._

"Good," the tall scientist replied to John in a preoccupied manner. "We're going to need a large quantity of water. He's bleeding everywhere. Pressure! Veronica, come put pressure here - and you, John, right there -"

As Marguerite observed the way all three were completely focused on cleaning up Ned's injuries, she forgot about her pique with Roxton. She'd seen the stalwart young man's wounds when they were fresh; she already knew what the others were just discovering. None of the raptor's gashes had exposed any organs, but a number of them were quite deep. Marguerite had done a fast patch job, first on Ned's injuries and then on her own, improvising pressure pads made of leaves when she had realized she was going to run out of usable fabric. _One more gash to bind, and I'd be positively indecent - not that I'm far from it now_. She tugged a bit uncomfortably at the scanty scraps of blouse remaining over her camisole, and glanced down with chagrin at the abbreviated length of skirt that left her knees bared.

She had known perfectly well that the wounds should have been carefully cleansed and stitched, but had been too aware of the danger of further attack to take time for more than cursory workmanship. None of Ned's wounds had been life threatening individually, but he had so many! Even though they had both known the quantity and severity of their wounds meant they should rest rather than undertaking the long hike back to the Treehouse, their only hope for survival had been to get away from that place as soon as possible and keep moving toward home.

Ned had grown progressively weaker from blood loss; Marguerite was sure both fever and infection from the raptors' germ-infested claws and teeth had already set in. Their progress had been perilously slow, his condition worsening before her worried eyes. Twice -_or was it three times?_ - it had been necessary to stop while Marguerite fought off new bands of raptors who were following the trail of blood. Then she'd had the inspiration of leading Ned into a creek and walking in it for a while, effectively eliminating their trail in the softly burbling waters. Of course by that time there were plenty of dead raptors for other predators to stop and feast on - an easier option than continuing to track the smaller human prey.

The adventuress's success in hiding their trail had been a good thing, since she'd been running too low on ammo to safely repel another raptor attack. They'd both been in pretty bad shape, she reflected; after that last raptor attack Ned had been leaning on Marguerite so heavily that she couldn't tell where her blood stopped and his began -

Her expression lightened suddenly as she glanced down at her now sleeveless, ragged and bloodstained blouse and her almost-embarrassingly short skirt. _Of course! This is why the others are ignoring me so completely! They must think this blood is all Ned's – they haven't realized I was hurt, too!_

Marguerite's momentary relief at having solved this troubling mystery faded abruptly as George let out a dismayed cry. She refocused on her friends gathered at Ned's side and saw blood spurting up in a strong stream. Challenger cursed in frustration and alarm as he dropped the clump of vegetation he had just removed from Ned's body and clamped his hand over the gaping skin. "Pulling away the pressure pad has broken loose the clotting on this laceration! Quickly! The knife!"

Veronica dashed out of the bedroom and took the steps to the upper level three at a time, grabbed the knife from its position at the open flame of the fireplace, and returned to the lower level by the fastest means possible - somersaulting over the railing. She landed in the hallway perfectly tucked into a noiseless roll, and was already running again by the time she was back on both feet.

Marguerite had instinctively begun to turn as she followed the energetic blonde's bounding stride out of Ned's room, and the resulting imbalance nearly sent her tumbling to the unpolished plank floor. Fighting back her sudden wave of dizziness as Veronica raced by on her way back again with the red-hot knife in hand, the slim brunette braced herself against the wall until the world spun back to normal.

It was long past time to give thought to tending her own wounds, she realized. But Ned's needs were greater than hers, and any delay in his treatment might unnecessarily lengthen his recovery time. Instead of asking anyone else's assistance, Marguerite limped away quietly to her room where she wouldn't distract the others. After all, she'd had plenty of experience at doctoring herself. She could do it again now.

***************

That crisis had only been the first of a half dozen incidents where lifting away the folded leaves used by Marguerite as pressure packing caused the American's abused body to tear further and spurt blood anew. They had nearly lost Ned more than once, but after hours of vigil it seemed they had finally succeeded in stitching, searing and clotting all of the journalist's scooped up one stack of spent supplies and turned to the younger man. "Here, let's take these back to the lab, John." He added the small bundle atop the pile of gear Roxton already held, then gathered more into an awkward bundle to carry to the lab himself. "A couple trips should have the room in better condition for monitoring Malone through what remains of the night."

Veronica glanced up from her vigil at Ned's bedside as the two men carted off their first armloads of medical debris from the room. She frowned, noticing how both Roxton and Challenger's broad shoulders slumped with weariness as they left the room. _We're all completely worn out. The sooner everyone has a chance to rest, the better. It must be getting close to midnight by now. _

The blonde sent an irritated look toward the doorway. _The cleanup work could be accomplished more easily if Marguerite would show her face to help. Where is she, anyway? She should have been in here, lending a hand with Ned as soon as she was finished changing her clothes. Or she could have come back a bit later, after she took a little rest. But it's been hours. We wouldn't have had that last close call if there had been another pair of hands ready to help. There hasn't been a sign of her almost since we began. She was here to help nurse Summerlee and Challenger when they needed it, and if it was Roxton laying here we couldn't force her away - so why isn't she here now?_

Ned's breathing faltered, and Veronica's head swung back to the occupant of the bed. She leaned over him, watching apprehensively for a few moments until she was certain he would continue to inhale and exhale. His skin, which had become nearly as sun-bronzed as her own over his years on the plateau, was a pale ashen color - with the exception of his face, now ruddy with fever. George had doused Ned with an infection-fighting powder, but overcoming the invading infection and fever would be another major battle requiring all the fortitude Ned's housemates could muster, and all the strength Ned still possessed.

Satisfied that he was all right for the moment, Veronica's thoughts returned to pondering what could have led to Ned's current precarious health, and whether Marguerite's avoidance of the sickroom had a deeper significance. _They were only doing some surveying. At least, that's all they were supposed to do_. _Marguerite is always teasing him; I wonder if she egged him into doing something dangerous along the way. Since Ned came back to us from that spirit realm, he's been much more inclined to respond rashly to things. He'd have accepted any challenge she issued. Maybe she's staying out of sight to keep from giving us an explanation._ _If she's to blame for this . . . _

As Challenger and Roxton returned to gather more used supplies, the older man volunteered to take the first watch over Ned through the night. When Veronica started to protest, George cut her off firmly. "It would be inappropriate for us to leave you alone to attempt any necessary restraint of our patient if he becomes too restless," he pointed out logically. Though he didn't want to come out and say so, he believed that despite her strength she might not be strong enough to overpower Ned should the young man begin to thrash feverishly.

"That's exactly why I should take the first watch," the blonde retorted. "You and Roxton should sleep until you're needed. Right now Ned is fine, and he's so weak that a baby could handle him."

"The first thing we should do is have something to eat," Roxton intervened gravely as Challenger frowned and opened his mouth to argue the point. "We missed dinner and we'll need to keep up our strength, for Malone's sake."

The other two acknowledged the wisdom of this. "Now is a good time, as soon as we've disposed of the last of these materials," Challenger yielded graciously as he scooped up another armload of depleted medicinal vials and stained cloths. "I believe it's safe to leave him for a little while. All three of us should take advantage of this respite."

Veronica knew better than to argue with the stern look he sent her way, amused at how much it reminded her of the same type of look her father had often given her. Then her amusement faded as she hurried to help the two men with the last of the cleanup. _Where is Marguerite? There should be four, not only three of us who need to take advantage of this quiet spell! _She tried to tamp down the irritation that had been growing along with her realization of the severity of Ned's condition, reminding herself that one should never jump to conclusions with the older woman. But it was difficult to find any logical reason for Marguerite's lack of presence other than Veronica's suspicions that she was somehow at fault.

No, no matter how she looked at it, she kept coming back to same conclusion. Nothing else Veronica could think of would explain the admittedly unpredictable brunette not even bothering to make the gesture of bringing any of them a refreshing drink during the long hours of working over their friend - she was usually more considerate of Roxton, if not of the others! _It would have been nice of her to at least come back to check on our progress, show a little concern for Ned - or to explain how this happened in the first place, if she didn't cause it herself_.

Unaware of their young companion's inner turmoil and relieved at her apparent compliance, the two men turned to their own thoughts as they finished moving things to the lab and looked in on Ned once more before heading to the upper level.

Challenger was already mentally cataloguing everything. _Sanitize, restock, dispose. It will take several hours of work each day if we're to keep our supply levels up as they're consumed on Malone's care. Perhaps the Zanga healer can help by providing some of the ingredients if I don't have sufficient quantities at hand. The fellow has an amazingly diverse pharmaceutical supply._

The scientist didn't notice how the dark-haired hunter's eyes dulled as the shielding of activity waned. Without the necessity of focusing on action to serve as a buffer, Roxton was struggling to restrain the surge of emotions and memories that had seized him from the moment he had glimpsed the returning pair as they emerged from the jungle outside the electric fence. It had only taken a moment for his anxious eye to ascertain that it was the beautiful lady who was holding Malone up, and not the other way around. A fierce stab of guilt had followed John's instant relief at realizing it was Ned who was hurt, not Marguerite. His culpability for such a selfish thought only deepened in the next moment as he had witnessed Ned stumbling heavily against Marguerite.

_William_. Roxton had frozen for a fraction of a second, his mind overwhelmed with visions of the way his brother had sunk slowly into the high grasses of the African jungle clearing after John's bullet had passed through the giant ape that had mauled him. In the time it had taken to cross the distance between them and cradle his elder brother in his arms, the bright red patch had spread rapidly across William's chest. Long before the younger brother had really grasped the extent of the tragic accident, William's eyes - _Blue, like Mother's._ - had gone glassy and empty. _Nothing I could do helped. The blood just gushed out like a tiny geyser; William's life kept pumping away no matter how hard I pressed against the place where my bullet entered his body. I killed my brother._

Roxton shook off the bitter memory, as he had earlier, but this time there was no action in which to bury his torment, nothing to help subdue the painful past. He frowned as a glance around revealed that he was no longer in Ned's room. _How did I get into Challenger's lab? Have to stay alert. Mustn't let the darkness win. Mustn't let the others down. This time is different. Ned is NOT going to die. Focus, man; focus on what needs to be done. Don't let the fear rule. Find something to do. Fight . . . for Neddy . . . for William._ Needing the assurance that this time would have a better outcome, he looked over as they walked toward the curved staircase and decided the best remedy was to force his fear into the open. "He's out of danger now, isn't he, Challenger?"

"I don't know," the tall red-haired professor answered as he, Roxton and Veronica trudged wearily up the stairs. He rubbed his forehead anxiously and reluctantly voiced his concerns. "We've worked over the lad for more than four hours now. He lost a vast quantity of blood, John, and he's breathing so shallowly - it may indicate other injuries we can't even discern at this point. It will take time. Perhaps we'll know more in the morning. If I only had more knowledge, better equipment . . ." His voice trailed away, clearly unhappy with the situation.

"We've done all we can, George," Roxton replied huskily, his heart sinking, more deeply concerned than ever despite his automatic attempt to offer this comfort to his friend. _I shouldn't have asked. It was better when I could at least pretend it's not as serious as I thought._ Running a hand through his short dark hair, John tried to accept the extent of Ned's injuries without equating the present with what had happened to William so long ago.

Challenger's analysis had sent a new chill of foreboding through Veronica as well, confirming all her fears about the likelihood that she was going to lose the gentle-hearted man who had won her heart with his tenderness and his sometimes-bumbling and awkward affection. Outrage at the imminent loss of her sweet Ned swelled in her mind, and she moved ahead of the two men up the stairs. By the time she reached the upper level her fists were clenched as tightly as her jaw. _The injustice of it!_ _Oh for something - anything! - I could throw - or hit!_

Veronica halted at the top of the stairwell just inside the great room, startled at the sight that met her gaze. In an instant, all her accumulated emotions found an outlet. "Well, of all the -! Ned is down there fighting for his life and _she_ is up here - _SLEEPING_!"

Before the two men could do more than follow her irate gaze to where Marguerite was reclining on the cushioned bench near the kitchen, Veronica strode forward, fairly trembling with rage at the other woman. "Marguerite, how could you?!" she demanded, giving the brunette a fierce poke in the shoulder with an accusing finger. Disdainfully she pulled away the fringed shawl that had served as Marguerite's covering against the chill night air as she dozed.

The silver-green eyes opened groggily and the former heiress blinked up at Veronica with a confused expression, a mirror image of the two men's puzzled visages. "Wh-what?" Marguerite had to clear her throat to speak clearly.

"What was it this time, Marguerite Krux?!" Veronica yelled resentfully, venting all her pent up feelings without reserve, hands on her hips as she glared furiously at the befuddled woman.

Challenger stepped forward quickly and flicked on the switch to activate the electric lights he had installed in the Treehouse after building the windmill and the electric fence_. A little more genuine light than the fireplace is providing might help shed some metaphorical light on whatever's brought on this outburst._ "Keep it down, Veronica!" he cautioned briskly with a pointed look over his shoulder toward the stairs, reminding Veronica of Ned's tenuous rest below them. She didn't appear to be placated, if he could judge by the narrow-eyed glare she turned on him now instead of the other woman. _Oops. That didn't do much good._ He swallowed, deciding to abandon the idea of addressing the sizzling blonde for the moment. Instead, he seized the opportunity to meet Marguerite's bewildered eyes. "Raptors, of course," he stated flatly and succinctly.

This reference the brunette understood perfectly, so she ignored Veronica's strange behavior and nodded, slowly easing herself to an upright position. "Almost a dozen," she shivered, automatically suppressing her wince of pain. _Ouch! Should have stayed in my room, much more comfortable_. "It looked like some kind of dinosaur crossroad."

"A dinosaur crossroad?" Roxton repeated, stepping forward and studying her with his shadowed hazel-green eyes. _Here's something I can do - figure out what happened_. "Where?"

"Almost to the Summerlee River," Marguerite answered. "Over on the western shore."

Rage still smoldering, Veronica hissed, "And what drew you there - diamonds? rubies? emeralds? Are they worth Ned's life?! You were just supposed to be doing simple mapping chores!"

Marguerite tensed, eyes narrowing. "What are you implying?!" She looked over to the tall hunter, expecting his support, only to be taken aback at finding that Roxton was eyeing her with an oddly pained expression. _What's happening here?_ "This was not my fault!" she snapped defensively.

"Come on, Marguerite," Veronica sneered. "Why don't you just admit the truth? Poor Ned is no match for your manipulations! You led him into danger, and if you think getting him home again lets you off the hook you'd better think again! How could you do this to him and then not even help us tend him?! Did you think we wouldn't notice your absence? We're down there fighting to save his life, and all the while _you're_ having a nice leisurely bath and taking a carefree little snooze all daintily dressed up in your stupid silk robe!"

Marguerite flushed with anger. "Now wait just a bloody minute -!"

"No! Not this time! No more lies! Just look at you - all cleaned up, fresh and happily napping away while the rest of us work our hearts out to keep Ned alive! You couldn't even be bothered to come back and see how he was doing!"

Veronica's contemptuous words made the brunette's silvery eyes flash storm-gray. "You don't know what you're talking about!" she retorted fiercely. "I -"

"I don't want to hear whatever excuse you've got cooked up this time, Marguerite Krux!" Glaring, Veronica gestured at the table, still only partially set for the dinner they had never eaten. "You could at least have finished setting the table, or covered the food - or _something!_ - before you started lounging around up here!"

Alarmed as both women's tones grew louder, Challenger sent another anxious look over his shoulder toward the lower level, then placed a placating hand on Veronica's shoulder. "Veronica, you have to admit that Marguerite must have been exhausted from the effort of getting Malone back here," he pointed out reasonably. "Remember, keeping Ned on his feet in his condition all the way from the Summerlee River was no mean feat."

Even as Marguerite smiled her weary appreciation at George's acknowledgement, the seething blonde whirled on him. "You know how she is! Are you excusing her?!"

Challenger backed up a step and looked to John for help handling the two women.

The hunter kept his gaze on Marguerite. But his mind's eye was still suffused with the vivid image of Ned's injuries and the nerve-wracking sound of the younger man's pained and rasping breathing; they had been graven into John's mind as they worked over the injured man these last several hours. Gradually the scene had taken on more and more aspects of the futile effort to save his brother from the effects of the bullet that had torn through his chest - John's bullet.

_I'm going to lose another brother._ The horrid thought would not be disciplined away into some dark corner of Roxton's mind. Though he fought back his inner despair, maintaining his calm demeanor with effort, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his mind off Ned's struggle to live. "I thought you and Ned were just going to collect that data for Challenger and get back here." _I didn't even worry when they didn't make it back at the expected time. I should have gone looking for them. I should have been more concerned, more on top of what was happening. I might have been able to prevent this disaster_. "What were you doing so far away?" the group's protector asked with a frown, careful to keep his voice controlled as he sought a reason for what was happening, a way he could have made a difference.

Marguerite hesitated, her green eyes flickering uneasily away from those of the man she trusted most in the world. _How can I answer that without betraying my promise to Ned?_

Veronica pounced, reading her delay as direct evidence that Marguerite was once again trying to avoid admitting her misbehavior. "Aha! See?!" she demanded of the men triumphantly. "How many more times will one of us have to pay before she values each of us as much as her stupid treasure?!"

Marguerite stiffly rose to her feet, her chin up defiantly. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a reply," she announced curtly. "I'll be in my room if any of you care to speak civilly with me."

"It should be YOU down there fighting for your life, instead of Ned!" Veronica hissed furiously, interpreting the older woman's intended retreat as a further sign of guilt. "You disgust me!"

Challenger wasn't sure which surprised him more, Veronica's venom, Marguerite's visible flinch at the younger woman's insult, or the inexplicable fact that Lord John Roxton wasn't playing his usual role of peacekeeper. _It's uncharacteristic of John to be so preoccupied with his own thoughts; he's not going to be any help here_, he realized in dismay_._ Without his usual ally when facing disputes between the two women, the Treehouse patriarch hesitated, uncertain how to intervene before matters could decline any further.

Unable to bear the inexplicable loathing in Veronica's lovely face, Marguerite tried to reason with her. "I know you're worried about Ned, but you don't have to take it out on me. Why would I lie? As soon as Ned wakes up he's going to tell you what happened, so why would I bother to make up a story?"

"You saw his wounds! You know how much blood he lost! He may _never_ wake up," was Veronica's bitter rejoinder.

Marguerite swallowed hard. She looked to John, but his bleak green eyes evaded her searching gaze. She turned to Challenger, seeking reassurance. "He'll be all right, won't he, George?" she whispered fearfully.

But one look was all it took to see that the usually self-assured scientist had his own doubts. _Where's Summerlee when we need him?_ Challenger grimaced to himself._ The old fool had to go and get himself killed – or lost – and left ME holding the proverbial bag – a medicinal one of which I know far too little to manage appropriately! So many mysteries with regard to the human body – my knowledge is a pale shadow of Arthur's, even with the journals left by Veronica's parents and all I've learned since arriving here_. "Maybe if we had been able to tend him sooner . . ." he sighed uncomfortably, unable to meet her eyes.

The brunette took an abrupt step back, stumbled, and caught hold of a chair to regain her balance, eyes widening in pained realization. All her focus had been on getting Ned home. She hadn't once doubted that Ned's injuries could be dealt with effectively if she could only get him this far, no matter how severe the wounds might be. "No! I brought him as fast as I could! I couldn't have left him alone there to come get you - the blood would have drawn more raptors long before we could return to him! He _can't_ die!" She turned toward the stairs with the obvious intention of going to Ned's side.

"You stay away from him!" Veronica snarled, startling Marguerite into freezing where she stood. "I don't want you anywhere near him! I should _never_ have let Ned go with you!"

The dark-haired woman met the fury-filled blue eyes of the fair-haired woman, but she didn't snap back or argue. Veronica's rage was checked suddenly as the anguish in Marguerite's face struck her. There was no doubt that it was genuine. Even as this registered, shaking the blonde's conviction that Marguerite deserved her wrath, the older woman nodded once, a short, taut acknowledgement very unlike her usual graceful movement. "I won't go near him alone, since you don't trust me," she promised hollowly and proceeded to descend the stairs with a slow, heavy step.

Veronica knew she should stop Marguerite. _What am I thinking? Of course Marguerite wouldn't want harm to come to Ned. Not deliberately, not even accidentally. There's enough heartache already without adding more._ Deciding to withhold judgement unless Ned indicated otherwise, she started to go after the other woman. But Challenger, not seeing her contrition and worried about the continuation of the verbal battle, caught Veronica's tentatively outstretched hand and prevented her from hindering Marguerite's departure.

"Let her go," he advised, maintaining hold of their hostess's arm long enough to halt the perceived pursuit. "Some time for thought would be advisable. Everyone's too volatile right now."

Veronica stared up at him, a frown creasing her brow again as Challenger's innocent words abruptly reminded her of the inescapable conclusion that this disaster had to be the other woman's fault. _Volatile is a perfect description of Marguerite - you never know when she's going to blow up in your face! Ned has born the brunt of her unpredictable humors too often in the past, and she's so good at making the men think she has some excuse that she never pays for her mischief - even _I_ let her off the hook too often! _Veronica's eyes flashed anew as she realized she had just been on the verge of exonerating her. _Remember Ned!_ she scolded herself and hardened her heart. _You can never trust Marguerite's facial expressions. How often has she used the appearance of vulnerability to serve her own purposes? For Ned's sake,_ _I'm not going to let her get away with anything this time!_ "Fine! But once she's had time to think it through she'd better tell the truth and accept responsibility for what she's done to Ned," she snapped, and stalked away in the opposite direction from Marguerite.

Challenger blinked in confusion. His brow puckered, and his head swiveled as he cast a concerned look after each vanishing woman, somewhat at a loss. "That's not quite what I meant," he murmured, turning to the silent man at his side. "What are we going to do, John? I can't believe Marguerite is lying to us. But if that boy down there dies without confirming what the truth really is, Veronica won't stand for Marguerite continuing to live here. This is not good. Not good at all!"

Roxton sighed heavily, his broad shoulders bowing. "I know, George, I know. I can't believe this is happening. I'll take first watch with Ned, but I'm going to get a little fresh air before I go sit with him," he sighed huskily, moving sluggishly toward the night-shadowed balcony.

Not for the first time in his life, George Challenger wished he had a better knack for communicating with people. "Why do I have the feeling," he frowned to the empty room, "that we're all misconstruing the essence of this conversation just when we should be working in unity?"

***************

Marguerite woke to a deep thirst and massive pain. She moaned and carefully rolled off her bed. It was dawn. She had managed to sleep through the night despite her sorely afflicted body and soul. _I guess I really overtaxed myself to get Ned home_, she decided with a sigh as she eased into her robe, tied it loosely, and padded barefoot out of her room. She could hear Roxton's voice coming from Ned's room, his soft low rumble no doubt soothing Ned's discomfort. She resisted the urge to go talk to John, remembering all too vividly Veronica's accusations of the night before and not yet ready to face the risk of finding Veronica there, too.

_I can talk to John later. I need a drink right now, anyway_. _Whoever planned the Treehouse with the kitchen upstairs was a moron. It's too far from the bedrooms_, she grumbled to herself as she stopped and looked at the stairs looming before her. _Oh well, it has to be done._ Negotiating the stairs was much harder than it had been the previous evening. She had stiffened up more than she'd expected as she slept; tight muscles made her movements slow and awkward, but she reached the upper level without falling. The stiffness eased somewhat as she determinedly continued forward. _If only I could say the same for the pain . . ._

Her step faltered when she saw Challenger and Veronica slouched in chairs, dozing. _So much for avoiding Veronica until later_, she thought ruefully, and for a moment she debated turning back. But Marguerite was desperately thirsty, so she decided to proceed. Fortunately, neither of her housemates awakened as she passed through the great room. They looked as exhausted as she still felt.

Marguerite kept her movements quiet as she took out a glass and filled it with clear, cool water. She drank it slowly, then poured another glass. Still she was parched_. I must be somewhat feverish myself_, she decided as she poured a third glassful of water. She sipped it as she made her way carefully back through the great room, keeping a wary eye on her slumbering housemates until she had safely begun to ease down the stairs.

She could still hear Roxton's gruffly gentle tones as he continued in his attempt to soothe Ned's pained moans. Secure in the knowledge that Veronica was safely asleep on the upper level, Marguerite yielded to her desire to see John and check on whether there had been any improvement in Ned's condition. Quiet as a mouse, she moved to Ned's doorway.

Roxton was bathing the young man's face and the only bit of torso not covered in bandages. Ned was restless, glistening with fever heat, restrained with bands of leather to keep him from shifting too much and breaking open his barely knit wounds. Ashen, weak, still breathing with audible difficulty, thickly swaddled in bandages, Ned looked even worse to her concerned eyes than he had yesterday.

The lean hunter looked similarly haggard after his long sleepless night, even from Marguerite's position behind him, but there was a desperate determination visible in his entire demeanor as he continued his quiet monologue and ministrations.

_Ned must have suffered through a seriously rough night_, Marguerite realized with compassion for both the men before her.

She lingered, remembering how she and Ned had laughed together at this same time yesterday as they set out on their journey to collect coordinates for Challenger's latest plateau map. They'd enjoyed exchanging jokes and stories as they walked along; Ned, delighted with his often-prickly companion's deliberately declared intention to be pleasant, had put himself out to rein in his own sometimes acerbic teasing. It had been such a surprisingly nice day - until it had all gone so wrong.

_Ned can't really die . . . can he?_ Uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts, Marguerite shook her head in fierce denial, refusing to accept the idea.

The rustle of her hair against the silk robe fell into a momentary lull in Ned's restlessness, and Roxton turned sharply, straightening up at the sound of her inadvertent movement of distress. "Oh, it's you. What are you doing in here?" he frowned, keeping his voice low and neutral. "If Veronica catches you there'll be another row. Ned doesn't need that."

Now that he was facing her, the care-worn nobleman looked even worse than she'd suspected. Impulsively she offered, "Let me look after Ned a little while, John. You're so tired . . ." At his doubtful silence she added lightly, "Come on, John - it's in my best interests for him to get well so he can tell you the truth. I'll take good care of him." She smiled a bit to let him know she was attempting to lighten the mood.

He wasn't amused. "You didn't take very good care of him the first time."

Marguerite's tentative smile vanished. "Is that what you really think, or are you only repeating what Veronica said last night?" she whispered, aghast.

"Given your record," he shrugged wearily, "and since you wouldn't answer the question about why you were so far from where you should have been . . ." From the look in his dark green eyes she could see he didn't expect an answer now, either. "Ned's not going to make it," he said hoarsely, finally voicing the certainty that had been growing in his mind all through the night. "So all we'll have is your word on it."

It was abundantly clear what he thought of her word.

_After all this time! _Marguerite backed away slowly, eyes darkening with such stunned grief at the implication of his words that it pierced the shell Roxton had been erecting around his battered heart as he prepared to face Ned's death. "It's not my place to explain," she managed to say quietly as she struggled to maintain a semblance of calm, trying to hide how deeply his words had wounded her. Plaintively, more to herself than to John, she asked, "How can I possibly prove it wasn't my fault?"

Roxton winced, realization of the burden he was placing on her washing over his handsome features. Regret touched his eyes and he took a step toward her.

At that moment Ned cried out incoherently in pain. Quickly John turned his attention back to the injured man until his calm tones and gentle sponging of the fevered brow quieted Ned's restless movements once again. When Roxton glanced over his shoulder at the doorway, the brunette was gone.

***************

Marguerite took a long, slow swallow of water from the canteen, then hung it back on its strap over her shoulder. She glanced up at the sun, estimating that she still had another two hours of steady walking to get back to where she and Ned had been yesterday. _Well, maybe more than two hours,_ she admitted to herself honestly,_ given the way everything is wavering_. _Could this day get any better? _She was working hard to maintain a steady pace, but suspected she was not really succeeding. She was so thirsty - but she had to conserve her water, control her intake instead of drinking as much as she craved; she had only one canteen with her and it was a long way to the next safe water source.

She shifted the rifle in her arms, warily eyeing the jungle around her. Her senses were beginning to be just enough off-kilter to be alarming; she could feel fever coming on too quickly for comfort. Her decision to leave the Treehouse hadn't been sudden; she'd brooded over John and Veronica's doubts and accusations for almost an hour. It wasn't fair for them to treat her this way. After all this time, she deserved better than to have George be the only one to believe in her. The question she had puzzled over was what to do about it.

It wasn't enough to make them pay by throwing a tantrum, giving them the cold shoulder, or devising something to make them grovel. She didn't want to simply harass them into taking back their hurtful barbs; she needed them to realize they were genuinely wrong. In order to convince them of the truth without betraying that foolish promise she'd made to Ned, she would need to show them something concrete. That meant taking this hike along yesterday's route. Her chances of making it there and home again without facing more danger weren't good, of course, but Marguerite had decided it shouldn't be more than she could handle.

What she hadn't counted on was the onset of the fever so soon. _I thought that tea of Veronica's was supposed to prevent fevers if taken soon enough. I drank enough of it to anchor Challenger's latest balloon!_ _I could have left a half an hour sooner, for all the good it's done!_ _But fever or no fever, if proof is what it will take to show them I didn't endanger Ned by searching for some imaginary precious stones, then proof is what I'll give them! I'll throw it right in their smug faces! I have enough genuine guilt to carry around without adding something I didn't even do. This time I'm innocent of blame._

_At least, I'm fairly sure I'm innocent. _

_Aren't I?_

Not for the first time, she replayed yesterday's events in her mind. Had she left anything undone that might have altered the outcome? No, she had argued with Ned until she was blue in the face, scolding him as if she were his cross-tempered mother. She had threatened to leave him to his own fate if he dared to continue in his intended madness, going so far as to march out of his sight toward home in the hope that he would give up his plan and follow her. But the perverse young idiot hadn't come after her, so she had yielded and returned to trailing along behind him as he strode toward disaster.

When she had actually seen the field he had to traverse on the route he intended to take, she'd made a desperate attempt to bribe him not to cross there. In vain she had pointed out that the place was obviously well traveled by raptors as well as other carnivorous dinosaurs. Ned had only laughed at her concerns, smirking as he refused her offer to fully fund publication of his journals when they made it off the Plateau. He'd insisted he was going to accomplish his goal with or without her.

Even threatening to shoot him if he didn't turn around and head for home had been futile; the stubborn fool had known that she couldn't bring herself to shoot him out of hand. How she regretted having developed an affection for the blond-haired, blue-eyed, irritating nuisance!

Marguerite had contemplated using the tried and true method of conking Ned on the head to knock him out. It would have been easy enough to tie him up and drag him back to the Treehouse on a travois. But Ned had watched her too carefully for her to be able to pull it off, clearly expecting just such an attempt from his more flexibly principled companion.

So she had done the only other thing possible. She had stayed with Ned and backed him up.

Given a couple more minutes, the love-struck fool might have achieved his goal unscathed. But the odds had been against his success all along - odds that had proven to be even worse than Marguerite had quoted in the face of the determined journalist's scoffing laughter.

_This definitely wasn't my fault_, she decided with relief for the fifth or sixth time. _And I'll prove it to the others without betraying Ned's confidence._ _Then they'll have to believe me, even if Ned doesn't survive. I just have to finish and get home before this bloody fever gets much worse._

Vaguely aware that something in her reasoning didn't quite make sense, she nonetheless plodded on towards the Summerlee River with her customary determination.

***************

The day dragged on. Ned's temperature soared, as did his pain and discomfort. The pipes for the water system chose this day of all days to break. Roxton had to haul cool water from the pond to keep a fresh supply handy for bathing Ned in the ongoing effort to control his raging fever. It was mid-afternoon before the weary hunter managed to finish the repairs to the bamboo water line.

Veronica only left Ned's room for brief periods to hang the sweat-soaked sheets to dry after she had changed them, or to brew more herbal tea to quench the suffering man's thirst. By early afternoon she was alarmed to realize she was the only one still able to pierce the distress-filled, frantic fever-world that gripped Ned, her calm voice and gentle hands soothing his inflamed senses. It obviously hurt the injured man simply to breathe, and every movement caused him excruciating agony.

Challenger continued to maintain a close watch on the young adventurer's wounds, cleansing them every two hours and repeatedly sprinkling the festering lacerations with fresh doses of their infection-fighting powder. In between these tasks he hunched over the desk in his laboratory, pouring over the Layton journals in search of additional herbs or roots that might prove to be beneficial medicinally for Ned. There was too much at risk here to rely on his own dangerously deficient knowledge or to trust only his previous experience.

Without consultation, the trio avoided talking about the situation with Marguerite as the day progressed. They were glad she stayed out of sight, allowing them to focus all their energy and attention on Ned.

The reward for their efforts came late in the day when Ned's fever finally broke just as the cool breezes of dusk swept through the Treehouse. His labored breathing eased and his fretful movements stilled as he slipped into a natural, healthy sleep. The others were exuberant with the renewed hope that he would come through after all. Veronica was so relieved that she stumbled over to the chair beside his bed and simply sat there watching him, a smile playing about her lips.

With Ned out of danger at last, Challenger and Roxton took the opportunity of going upstairs to wolf down a cold repast. The simple meal of dried raptor and fruit refreshed their spirits remarkably, and as they made their way back down to the younger man's room they joked with one another about how incredibly hungry they'd both become once they knew he was safe. They paused and hushed abruptly at Ned's door as they spotted Veronica now slumbering in the chair. "Shall we move her, do you think?" Challenger whispered, tiptoeing over to peer down at the exhausted young woman curled up on the chair. She was soundly asleep with one hand still extended to rest on Ned's arm.

"No, I'll just cover her up a bit," replied the younger man as he picked up an extra blanket that had been kept nearby in readiness for Ned. With an indulgent grin, he draped it lightly over Veronica, careful not to disturb her. One last quick check assured the two men Ned was definitely taking a turn for the better.

His blue eyes full of relieved triumph, Challenger nodded to Roxton to leave the room with him. "I believe it's safe to assume our patient will sleep peacefully through the night," he assured the hunter as they stepped out into the hall.

With a delighted grin, John clapped his friend on the back in congratulations. "It seems we've beaten the odds once again," Roxton noted with satisfaction.

"Yes, though this was closer than I ever want to come again to losing one of you," George noted ruefully. "If we didn't keep plenty of that powdered antibiotic on hand, it might have been a different story. The infection would have finished the lad off within another day. I must say, I'm looking forward to a good night's sleep myself," he admitted with a weary stretch and a smothered yawn as they started down the hall. "I'm getting too old for this nonsense."

Roxton chuckled. "You'll never be too old for anything, George, and you know it," he retorted. "Your strength and vigor will outshine the rest of us for years to come." Then the handsome nobleman's face sobered as he peered down the hallway toward Marguerite's bedroom, remembering the last time he had seen her. "Marguerite's light is out. Shall we wake her to let her know the good news? I haven't seen her since this morning." _She's probably been avoiding all of us today, especially me. I'm sure she's hurt and angry over my doubting her - deservedly so, I'm afraid_, he mused guiltily_._ _The sooner I let her know I never truly held her responsible for this, the better. She tried to excuse Veronica's accusations last night as being worried about Ned; funny_ _that she understood it when we didn't. Not that it's any reason to have treated Marguerite as I did. She shouldn't have been alone all day; I should have checked on her earlier, made sure she was all right._

The scientist squinted in the same direction. "If her light was on, I'd say we should let her know as soon as possible, but since it's dark in her room . . . No, let her rest," he decided with a sigh. _At least for once Marguerite has made herself scarce instead of trying to force the rest of us to see things her way. It would have severely hindered our efforts with Ned if it had been necessary to deal with her moodiness today, too. Even though she's quite justified in being annoyed in this instance, it was perceptively tactful of her not to push Veronica and John while Ned remained in danger. She's been so quiet, however, that she's bound to be ready to explode by now. I do believe,_ he mused ruefully, _that_ _tomorrow will be a good day to stay in the lab. _"It's late, and it's been a long day. She's probably been brooding about Veronica's accusations all day long, and we don't need to deal with her temper tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough to face her, when we're all a bit more rested."

The hunter grunted his acceptance of the recommendation and turned toward his own bedroom. _Challenger's right;_ _Marguerite doesn't like having her sleep disturbed, so it'll only make things worse if I intrude now just to give her the update on Ned's condition. It can wait till morning._ _He's also right about it being better to wait until we're both well rested before I try to apologize for my insensitivity earlier, when she offered to give me the opportunity to rest. I definitely behaved badly_, he grimly acknowledged to himself with a wince._ She deserved better than to bear the brunt of my morbid preoccupation with my brother's death._

Odd how everything seemed so clear now that Ned appeared to be out of danger. Whatever had led to this horrible misadventure, it wasn't likely to have been any mischief from Marguerite. Since Ned's sojourn to the spirit world, he had shown himself to be much more self-confident, nowhere near as susceptible to manipulation by anyone else - even Marguerite.

There was a faint possibility that Ned had been injured protecting the wily brunette during some new pursuit of wealth, but the days were past when Marguerite would have denied responsibility if that had been the case. Even the defensiveness and cutting sarcasm she still adopted with her housemates did not conceal the simple truth that Marguerite Krux cared deeply for each of them. Since she had insisted this incident wasn't her fault, there must be some other explanation. They could straighten it all out in the morning, after he had apologized for his own behavior. Veronica would be ready to be more reasonable, fresh and rested after a good night's sleep, and he would have a simple talk with the two of them to settle everything.

Yes, surely now that the crisis was over Veronica would realize the truth, just as he had. Marguerite had saved Ned's life.

In retrospect, it was totally incredible that the slim brunette had managed to bring Ned so far when he'd been in such bad shape. It would have been impossible to have traveled that distance with the scent of Ned's vast quantities of fresh blood hovering on them without attracting predators, so Marguerite must have had to employ all her skill and ingenuity to get them both home. She'd clearly endangered herself for Ned's sake, and as Challenger had pointed out initially, it must have exhausted even her surprising reserves of strength_. Even if somehow there is some miniscule fault to be attributed to Marguerite, it's more than balanced by the fact that she didn't abandon Neddy, but brought him home safely._

Veronica would admit the same thing, especially in light of Ned's recovery. The young blonde never hesitated to own up when she had made an error in judgment. Of course Marguerite was going to be mightily annoyed with them for taking out their worry on her as they had. Hopefully they could mollify her with the good news about Ned and their sincerest apologies - _and probably a lot of groveling, too_, he cautioned himself with no small trepidation.

_I'll make it up to Marguerite, whatever it takes_, he vowed as he prepared for bed._ Actually_, he admitted with a rueful grin to himself_, it's more likely that I won't have a choice about making amends with her. She's not one to let others get away with treating her unjustly. I'd better be sure there's a nice big pot of coffee ready for her before she wakes in the morning._ _ Plenty of coffee should go a long way toward softening the undoubtedly vile temper my lovely spitfire will be venting tomorrow._

His grin faded as he dropped wearily onto his mattress. He had some experience along these lines, and Marguerite's creativity in payback matters could be awesomely inventive, though thankfully not as vindictive as in their early days together on the Plateau. John didn't want to even try to imagine what the temperamental lady was going to put the three of them through for the accusations that had been made or implied - W_ell, by me and Veronica, at least; George should be safe._ - but one thing he knew for certain. What they had just gone through with Ned was going to seem like a picnic compared to Marguerite's retaliation if they couldn't convince her they were sorry for what they had said, that they hadn't really meant it, and that it would never happen again.

_Tomorrow. I'll worry about it tomorrow. Everything will work out now that Neddy-boy is out of danger. _

Lord John Roxton's eyes drifted closed.

***************

Marguerite huddled by the fire, wishing she dared to build a larger blaze even though she knew it wouldn't make an actual physical difference. It wasn't cold weather that made her body shake. She shouldn't be out in the jungle. She should be home at the Treehouse, tucked safely in her own bed and sipping some ridiculous herbal tea Veronica had brewed to satisfy her deep thirst.

It had taken too long to reach her destination. Roxton was going to be furious with her for being out of the Treehouse alone overnight. If the truth were told, Marguerite wasn't too happy about it herself. It was difficult to discern whether the dancing shadows were merely the massive trees with their tangled branches and twisted trunks, or whether there were genuine dangers concealed by the forest all around her. The darkness and the fever combined to make her feel very vulnerable . . . and lonely.

A moment later Marguerite wished she really was the only one out here.

The shrubs of the lower groundcover seemed to burst open as three of the smallest dinosaurs on the plateau leapt out of the foliage at the lone woman hunched by the flickering flames. Marguerite identified the attackers easily as she jumped to her feet and swung her rifle into action. Though much smaller than raptors, only about two and a half feet long and less than three feet tall, the explorers had long ago learned the truth of Veronica's warning that the Camposauries were just as dangerous as their larger brethren. A fast and agile nocturnal species equipped with long sharp talons and wickedly powerful jaws, they were capable of taking down much larger dinosaurs with their group hunting tactics. The Zanga feared them as much as they dreaded facing a T-Rex. Even fire was an ineffective weapon against a Camposaurus: Campies appeared to be the only dinosaurs unafraid of a blaze. Humans were an easy snack for the tenacious little beasts - unless they happened to be armed with the efficient modern weapons the explorers carried.

Marguerite was already firing at the first three Campies, levering the spent shells out of the rifle with a speed John would have admired, when she took note of additional ominous rustling among the leaves. She would have to be even quicker if she wanted to live to prove her innocence to the others. There were more Camposauries moving into attack positions around her campsite.

The next few minutes were a blur of activity as Marguerite fired at anything that moved, adrenaline making her hypersensitive to the predators all around her, until suddenly the jungle was still again. Eyeing the darkness beyond her little camp, she sank to one knee above the rifle she had dropped when she'd pulled out her pistol. Automatically starting to reload, she shoved her hand into her ammo pouch, withdrew a half dozen bullets, and tried to open the revolver. Then she stopped and stared down in dazed surprise. _Where's my pistol? This is my bloody knife!_

She blinked at the blade in her hand, her mind racing. _How - When - ?_

_Oh yeah, I remember now_, she shook her head in bemusement_. _She had jammed the pistol into her waistband when it had clicked on an empty chamber. Ducking to avoid a leaping Camposaurus, she had pulled her knife from her boot and slashed upwards as the nasty little carnivore landed on her shoulders. It had all happened so fast . . . Marguerite drew a deep shaky breath, thankful that her instincts for survival had been honed as sharply as the knife over the years. _It's a good thing I've kept this little trophy tucked into a boot ever since taking it from that skunk, __Avery Burton__._ She chuckled grimly as she cleaned off the blade and tucked it back into her boot. _Wouldn't that scoundrel be infuriated to know that his favorite blade just saved my life?!_

Another disturbance in the forest greenery brought her attention back to the present. Fortunately it was only the evening breeze this time. She counted eight dead little dinosaurs as she reloaded both her pistol and the rifle. Only then did she take a moment to check her bandages. The raptor bite below her ribs was bleeding again, agitated by the sudden action of the latest battle. She had also garnered some new talon slices on her right forearm. It could have been worse; judging by the shredded condition of her boot, she had narrowly escaped a nasty leg wound or two.

She noticed one gouge extending down to the heel, and caught her breath until a quick check assured her it was still secure. _That's all I'd need now - to lose the Ouroboros after all this time just by not noticing a loosened heel!_ _Good thing the Zanga have that leather mending goop; these boots are the only truly secure place I have to hide my most important secret. One never knows who's going to be invading one's privacy next on this absurd Plateau! _The thought brought Avery Burton to mind again, and this time Marguerite's smile was smug as she recalled how he had taken so many valuable gems, but totally missed the priceless artifact she rarely permitted away from her person.

The cry of a night bird startled her into the realization that her attention was drifting again instead of being focused on her current survival.

The Campies' carcasses would draw larger predators - or more of their kind_. I'm in no shape to keep fighting like this. I've got to get away from this place._ Marguerite gathered her weapons and Ned's backpack as quickly as she could. The pack was in remarkable good condition, considering it had been left overnight in that field where the stubborn American had been attacked by all those raptors yesterday. Although it was a bit trampled and dirty, it was still intact. She carefully doused the fire, and then risked taking a few more moments to refill her canteen before she settled her hat on her head and crossed the nearby stream to move off into the darkness.

_A safe place to sleep. I must find a safe place to sleep and tend these new wounds._

_The problem is. . . how am I going to find a safe place now that it's already dark? Roxton is really going to be mad this time._ The dizziness and feverish shivering that had faded in the urgency of the moment had now returned full force. Again Marguerite had the discomfiting feeling that she was missing something that should've been obvious, but she found it difficult to shake off the haze forming over everything now that the battle-induced adrenaline was wearing off.

"Just perfect," she muttered ironically to herself. "Could this day get any better?"

***************

Veronica studied the arrangement gravely before she nodded. Roxton had gone out early and brought back a bouquet of Marguerite's favorite flowers. Arranged in Abigail Layton's last crystal vase, the delicate flowers now held a place of honor on the breakfast tray the hunter and huntress had prepared. There was an aromatic cup of coffee, a china plate holding perfectly browned toast with a generous helping of both butter and jam, and a dish of Marguerite's favorite fruits. The mercurial brunette should find no fault with this peace offering of breakfast served to her in bed.

"Let's go, then," Roxton suggested flatly, his dark green eyes uneasy as he lifted the tray from the kitchen counter. "The sooner we face her, the better."

"I agree," Veronica nodded, squaring her shoulders and turning with him toward the stairs to the lower level of the Treehouse.

They didn't speak as they proceeded to Marguerite's bedroom. They were both preoccupied with wondering how Marguerite would respond to their effort to make up for doubting her. Hopefully the combination of their planned apologies and the good news about Ned would cheer her enough that she would be willing to be magnanimous about their flagrantly hurtful behavior. The nervous blonde reached the doorway first, but held back the curtain for Roxton to precede her, one brow quirked in challenge as she met his dark green eyes.

The British nobleman smirked at her knowingly as he strode by her, acting as if he was perfectly confident, but he swallowed hard and braced himself before he actually stepped over the threshold. Then he stopped in his tracks, staring at the empty bed. "She's not here," he said blankly.

"What?!" Veronica pushed past him. It took only a second to confirm that Marguerite was not in bed. "But it's still early!" she frowned, puzzled. "She's never up this early."

"Veronica."

Stiffening at the sudden tension in his gravelly voice, Veronica turned to look at the tall hunter, then followed his stricken gaze to a jumbled heap of materials on the floor by Marguerite's dressing table.

Blood. There was a lot of blood. Blood on the clothing Marguerite had discarded on the floor, the ones from her disastrous outing with Ned. When she'd returned to the Treehouse they had assumed that the damage to her wardrobe had been the result of Marguerite making the bandages for Ned. Now they read a different story as they looked at the remnants of her clothes. The truth was confirmed by the bloody water in the basin on the dressing table and on the cloths obviously used to cleanse the source of all the bleeding. They could also see where blood had dripped on the floor as she'd tended her open wounds.

_Alone, without our help_, they both realized, exchanging guilty looks.

Worse, there were more stains on the clothing Marguerite had donned after initially caring for her own injuries, the pale blue silk nightgown she had been wearing beneath the robe upstairs two nights ago when they found her asleep on the bench. Blood must have been seeping through the bandages the whole time they were yelling at her, doubting her.

_No wonder she was so outraged by my accusations._ Veronica closed her eyes in pained disbelief at her own folly. _Will I never learn to stop thinking the worst of Marguerite? _The soiled nightgown and bandages had been dropped on the floor alongside the used makeshift trail bandages. It didn't take a physician to discern the initial signs of infection amidst the blood on those strips of cotton that had bound Marguerite's injuries.

There was one other tangled heap of stained materials. Hoarsely Roxton identified it to Veronica, "That's the nightgown she was wearing yesterday morning when she came to Ned's room." _Why didn't I notice she wasn't wearing the same nightclothes she had on the night before?! It's not even the same color! I should have noticed! I should have questioned it, but no, all I could think of was my own pain!_ The silk nightgown and robe left so haphazardly on the floor with the other articles showed clear traces that she had bled through yet a third set of bandages.

_Marguerite wouldn't have left such a mess if she'd been able to clean it up,_ Veronica realized with rising knew that despite the illusion of indolence her dark haired friend liked to portray, she usually managed to accomplish everything that really needed to be done._ She's especially meticulous about caring for her dwindling supply of "real" clothing, so the fact that she's left everything lying untended like this is even more ominous than all this blood._ She gave her tall companion an uneasy, searching look, but couldn't bring herself to voice the obvious question in the face of his stricken expression.

Roxton stood rock still, staring at the abundant evidence that Marguerite had been badly wounded, clenching his jaw tightly, his face paling beneath his bronzed tan. _How could I have been so blind? How could I have not noticed she was hurt? Where could she be? She should be in bed after losing this much blood. She's been hurt for days, and I never knew, never even thought to check! I'll never forgive myself if - no, I won't even think it! _ "She's just gone upstairs," he reasoned flatly, though he didn't believe it himself. "Did you look out on the balcony this morning? Sometimes if Marguerite can't sleep she goes up there."

Veronica shook her head, her own brow creased with anxiety. "No, Roxton. She's not on the balcony. I swept it already this morning."

Marguerite's suitor abruptly turned on his heel and went quickly back upstairs. Once there it took Roxton only a quick keen glance to realize what he should have noticed much earlier: Marguerite's weapons and hat were missing from their usual places. He dropped the breakfast tray onto the table with a clatter, not even noticing when the crystal vase toppled over, cracking on impact and spilling the water and colorful flowers across the tray and table.

By the time Veronica had alerted Challenger that Marguerite was missing and the pair had followed Roxton to the upper level, the grim, guilt-ridden man had already armed himself and was inserting supplies into his backpack with painstaking self-control.

"How long has she been gone?" Challenger asked somberly.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her since yesterday morning." Roxton's words were brisk, every movement crisp and efficient as he prepared to search for the missing woman. His voice, however, hoarse and gravelly, revealed just how deeply disturbed he was. "I was in and out so many times throughout the day that she could have slipped away any time without any of us questioning the elevator's usage."

"Having lost that much blood, she should be resting. Why would she leave?" Veronica asked. Her usual golden complexion went sickly gray in guilt as she gave voice to her fear. "Because of what I said? Did I drive her away?" she asked the equally disturbed men with a catch in her voice.

"I don't think she meant to leave permanently, Veronica. She didn't take much," Roxton replied matter-of-factly. _She's in big trouble or she'd be back by now. She'll need medicine, bandages, and food. Control yourself, Roxton, _he ordered himself_. Plan it out. Stay controlled. She's been gone too long. Her life may depend on my thinking straight. Can't let myself lose control this time._ "She left her backpack here, so she has no extra clothes, not even her coat or her bedroll. I don't think she planned to be gone long. When I talked to her yesterday . . ." he hesitated, then admitted with open self-loathing, "I implied that we couldn't trust her word, and she said something . . ."

Her words held much more meaning to him today than when she had spoken them yesterday. "_It's not my place to explain,_" she had tried to tell him - but it was the additional sentence_, "How can I possibly prove it wasn't my fault?_" that echoed accusingly in Roxton's mind now.

_How could I have been so stupid? How could I have failed to let her know I believed her? How could I have ever allowed her think it was her own fault, even for a moment? I know better than anyone what it's like to bear the blame for a death, the weight of that guilt - how could I have done that to Marguerite when she already believes herself to be damned?!_

He swallowed back the fear and recriminations and went on gruffly, "I think she's gone out there to get something. I don't know what she hopes to find that would show us she didn't get Ned into this mess, but I think that's what she's trying to do - bring us proof."

Veronica flinched. "I should come with you, Roxton. This is just as much my fault as yours. I'm the one who blamed her first when we should have been paying more attention to her condition." _She never even told us she was hurt; was she afraid that I wouldn't listen - or worse, that I wouldn't care?_

The hunter made himself focus on his young hostess, putting a reassuring hand on her slim shoulder. _Mustn't make the same mistake with Veronica that I made with Marguerite – listen to her! She feels just as badly as I do, can't let her carry that load . . . just in case . . ._ "No, you can't come along," he refused with gruff gentleness. "Challenger and Malone will need you here. George can't tend to Ned and guard the Treehouse at the same time. I can track Marguerite, and I'll bring her home. I promise, Veronica, I'll bring her home. We can argue over who's more at fault later, okay?" he managed to infuse a bit of lightness into his voice, and even to curl his lips upward a tad. _A poor joke, but_ _Marguerite is always reassured when I can get her to smile._ _Maybe it will work with Veronica, too._

Veronica gazed up at him miserably, thick-lashed blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly, knowing he was right about her being needed here. She also understood and appreciated the intention behind his valiant attempt at humor, but couldn't bring herself to reply in kind. "You'd better not break that promise, Roxton," she whispered, much more a plea than a threat.

He squeezed her shoulder, nodding gravely.

Challenger spoke up, grimacing at the necessity of adding to his friends' emotional burdens by raising this topic. "I stopped to have a look in her room before Veronica and I came upstairs, John." He hesitated, then pushed on. "Did you notice there was evidence of infection on the bandaging?"

Roxton nodded and completed the thought he knew was troubling George. "But there was no sign that she'd applied any of the powder to combat the infection," he stated. The same thing had struck him when he had been looking around her room. That powder was lightweight. No matter how carefully it was applied, it created a faint dusting all over the patient as well as the surrounding surfaces. But there had been no traces of the powder amidst the stained materials in Marguerite's room, on the floor, or on any of the furniture. For some reason Marguerite hadn't treated her wounds with the powder, which meant that by now she could be in worse shape than Ned had been.

Challenger held out a leather pouch. "I packed you enough for numerous poultices. It needs to be applied as soon as possible, John." He didn't add that without the medicine Marguerite might not be able to fight off the infection. He knew he didn't have to verbalize that ominous bit of news to the man who loved her.

Roxton took the pouch and tied it to his belt, then continued packing. Veronica hurried to gather the materials for making teas that would help fight fever and thirst and to assemble a variety of foods for his pack. As she handed the supplies to him, she fought to summon a smile and find something to say that might encourage him as he had tried to encourage her. "You'll probably find that she's fallen into the lap of luxury somewhere along the way. You know how she always lands on her feet."

Roxton nodded silently as he shouldered the bulging pack and settled his hat on his dark hair. He met their concerned eyes. "Don't worry. I'll bring her home," he vowed again, then stepped into the elevator. "You two just concentrate on having Neddy-boy well enough to greet her when we get back."

"We'll do that, John," Challenger assured him as the mechanism lowered the hunter from sight.

**************

Marguerite awakened slowly. The first thing she was aware of was discomfort. Throbbing pain, a lot of sharp stinging prickles, cold, stiffness, insistent roaring in her ears, damp - no, not just damp. She was completely soaked! She opened her eyes, irritated with the sensation of icy, sodden clothing sticking to her chilled skin.

She blinked at what she saw as she focused. _Oh, well, that explains it._

She was lying half on a cold, slippery wet rock ledge, and half in water, with the spray of a waterfall thundering down only a few feet from her face. It was the cascading water crashing full force into the base of the waterfall that was creating the roaring in her ears. Judging by the light filtering through from the other side of the thickly descending curtain of water, she was behind the waterfall, between it and the cliffs it tumbled over so noisily.

She fought the lethargy she felt and tried to get out of the chilly wavelets splashing around her, but found she was unable to use her numb legs effectively. She had to struggle out of Ned's backpack, since its sodden contents hindered her movement too much. After managing to heave the canvas pack up onto the ledge, Marguerite maneuvered herself the rest of the way out of the water. Her rifle floated nearby, shifting position with the constant flow of water generated by the waterfall. Marguerite stretched out one unsteady leg and snagged the weapon's strap with a tingling foot, pulled it close enough to grab the wet leather, and secured it on the ledge beside her before allowing herself to lean back, gasping from the effort. As she rubbed her legs in an effort to regain circulation and waited for the exertion-induced pain to subside and her breathing to steady, she stared around warily, hoping to spy her missing hat. However, there was no sign of her hat in the ebb and flow of the blue-gray waters. It must not have made it through the turbulent downpour with her.

_How the devil did I end up in a place like this?_ _I remember fighting those nasty Camposauries, and then . . . I have a vague recollection of looking for a safe place from other night predators. What happened? Oh yes, that's right – blast this fever! - I almost walked straight into an __Amazon__ hunting party's temporary camp!_

Providentially, she'd been moving so slowly in her weakness that she'd not made enough noise to attract attention. The shock of finding herself on the edge of their camp had cleared her benumbed thoughts enough to give her the presence of mind to back away just as quietly. Relations with the warrior women had been strained since the encounter when the Amazons had tried to keep Challenger, Roxton and Malone for themselves. Both groups practiced unspoken mutual avoidance to prevent further confrontation, having too much respect for one another's abilities to upset the uneasy truce that had been established. Marguerite suspected she and Veronica understood this more clearly than the men.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to hail the camp than to sneak off. She might have received much-needed medical care, or at least an escort back to the Treehouse. But she hadn't thought of it at the time. That particularly brilliant plan had only come to her later, as she was running from the T-Rex. Amazing how clearly the mind functioned when filled with terror. Neither she nor what surely must have been the largest lizard on the plateau would ever have known how close she had been passing to its sleeping form if she hadn't stumbled and fallen. It had been sheer bad luck that when she flung out her hands to catch hold of something to save herself from a nasty tumble in the dark, the rifle she had been using as a crutch had struck the slumbering dinosaur.

The One who controlled destiny must have been working overtime to redeem her from her own folly last night. Her mad flight through the dark jungle had ended abruptly when she burst from between trees and found nothing beneath her feet but air. She had fallen down an embankment, tumbling into the broad pool at the bottom of this waterfall with the T-Rex so close behind her that she could feel its breath. Only divine inspiration - combined with her own finely honed survival instincts - could have prompted her to dive right under the waterfall itself to hide. A split second's hesitation and she would have been T-Rex fodder right now.

_Although I might not have chanced diving under the falls if I had known how powerful it would be_, she mused as she remembered the strength of the deluge that had battered her weakened body. She wondered if she would make the same choice again, now that she was feeling the after-effects of her unplanned dip beneath the falls. _Hmm, quite a toss-up between continuing an attempt to outrun a roaring T-Rex, or facing the slamming forces of this waterfall again._ But there hadn't been time to think it through last night, so here she was, still alive despite the near drowning.

_Cold and wet, but definitely alive, or I wouldn't feel so miserable_. _Oh, what I wouldn't give for a couple warm, fluffy towels and a masseuse!_

_Hmm, _Marguerite's brow creased as it occurred to her that she was thinking more clearly than - well, than those other brief moments of clarity when she'd been scared into alertness since leaving the Treehouse yesterday morning.

_The waterfall again,_ she concluded in wry amusement. _The constant spray of cold water must be keeping my fever down. I'm still shivering, but that's probably just from how chilly it is back here behind the falls. It's definitely good that I'm able to think clearly again, because I'm going to need all the mental acuity I can muster to get home without killing myself. I couldn't possibly survive many more blunders like the ones I stumbled through last night._

As Marguerite's eyes adjusted to the filtered light, she cautiously lifted the edge of the somewhat worse-for-wear bandage over her most serious wound. Marguerite blinked and looked again. _It's clean! How is that possible?_ She knew it had started to fester with infection, like Ned's various cuts and gashes. She should have gone back into Ned's room before she'd left, to get some of the medicinal powder Challenger was always pushing on them to fight infections, but she had been reluctant to face any of her housemates again until she could do it with her head held high. At the time she'd excused the prevarication by telling herself she'd only be gone half a day or so and would be able to tend to herself more thoroughly when she returned with proof for her friends.

_Just see where caring what others think of you has gotten you now!_ she scolded herself sternly. Starting on this sentimental journey without the precaution of dosing herself with the appropriate medications was just another testimony to how feverish she must have been without realizing it. By all rights, every one of her abrasions and gashes should be rank with infection. But though the raptor bite just below her ribs was the deepest of her current injuries, and was still gaping open alarmingly despite her makeshift patch job back at the Treehouse, it showed no sign of rampant infection.

Puzzled, the slender brunette checked beneath her other bandages. The other wounds were all the same. None of them showed any sign of knitting closed, but otherwise they merely exhibited the normal ugly redness of recently inflicted wounds. The only reasonable conclusion was that the constant motion of the water had been repeatedly cleansing her, actually helping her condition - at least until now.

_Okay_, she mused in wonder at her continuing escape from the consequences of her missteps, _if I ever have to do it again, I should keep in mind that waterfalls have multiple ways of saving one's life, while the same definitely cannot be said for a T-Rex. _

She grinned wryly to herself as she remembered how she and Ned had been entertaining themselves during their long walk by planning a "How to survive in the Lost World" chapter for his eventual best seller. _ Now I can add 'Never poke a T-Rex with a rifle' to the list. Ned will get a chuckle out of that one. 'Opt for diving into a waterfall' is probably another one Ned will enjoy - provided I ever have the opportunity to tell him about it._

_Now if only this waterfall could warm me up and provide food! What on earth was I thinking to leave the Treehouse without extra supplies?! _

Marguerite cursed the fever that had so badly affected her reasoning. Her vaunted sense of self-preservation had definitely not been functioning this time. All she'd thought about was finding a way to redeem herself in the eyes of the people she had grown to value in her life. _Who would have suspected that the respect of these people could come to mean so much to me that maintaining their respect would become a vital necessity?_ She winced at the thought of the lecture she was sure to get from both Veronica and John when they realized she had broken the safety rules yet again, leaving the Treehouse by herself without telling anyone else. With her history of feigning lack of concern for the opinions of others, they might not even believe her reason for doing it - if they were still speaking to her at all, of course.

The thought made her smile grimly to herself. If Malone didn't survive, the others might prefer her to stay right here behind this waterfall.

She had never known George Edward Challenger to doubt his ability to do anything he set out to do. She was still rattled by the hesitation she had seen in his keen blue eyes when he hadn't been able to assure her he could successfully tend Ned's wounds. But losing Ned was _not_ an option. _Ned has to be all right - after all, if I can survive Camposauries, a T-Rex and being submerged in a waterfall all in one night, surely Ned can survive those measly raptor injuries_.

She set to work readjusting her bandages as best she could, then braced herself carefully as she struggled to her feet on the slippery moss-covered ledge. _Does it reach all the way out from behind the waterfall to open air?_

Proceeding along the ledge as far as she could, first in one direction and then the other, soon revealed that she couldn't get out that way. The narrow rim of rock had nowhere near as much length as the waterfall, petering away long before she could see any dry land. That meant she had to make it back through that punishing downpour to get out of here. She regarded the water doubtfully. Was she strong enough to swim past it, out to the calmness on the other side? And what if there was another T-Rex, or some other predator out there? The deluge fell too thickly for her to be able to see anything on the other side.

_Well, I'll just have to chance it. I certainly can't stay here without food, dry clothes, and a way to warm myself. _

Marguerite picked up the backpack and eased into it, then checked her pistol and rifle to be sure they were both loaded. _At least I had sense enough to bring extra ammo so I can reload - if I can just get to the sunshine where the barrels can dry!_

Carefully she chose a place where the daylight seemed to gleam through the liquid most brightly, hoping it indicated a thinner spot to pass through. With the backpack fastened and the rifle secured by its strap so it hung beside the pack, she dove into the brighter place.

Instantly the momentum of the descending water drove her down. The force with which it struck Marguerite's body knocked the breath from her lungs. She was tumbled willy-nilly with the flow, and just as she thought she would lose consciousness altogether, the water popped her back up into air and dropped her on land.

Gasping for breath, she slowly rolled over onto her back. Gradually the blackness faded and the pain in her lungs eased . . . and she realized something was splashing her. She opened her eyes.

Water on one side, rocky cliff on the other, ledge beneath her.

_Blast! I'm right back where I started! All that for nothing!_

Obviously a bad spot to try diving into. She would pick a different place . . . as soon as her body stopped rebelling and was ready to obey her mind's commands again.

Three attempts later, Marguerite had to admit she didn't have the strength to escape her 'refuge'. The waterfall kept throwing her back onto the ledge. _So much for the idea that this stupid thing saved my life. Now it's likely to prove to be the death of me! How typical of my entire life! Every time I get the crazy idea that something good has come along, it turns out to be something bad._

_I'll only become weaker as time passes_, she realized grimly, _without food, heat, and medicine. If I can't fight my way through this bloody waterfall now, I never will._

Spent, Marguerite sprawled on the ledge and closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at her liquid prison for the time being. Forlornly she whispered, "Could this day get any better?"

She couldn't get out, and how in the world would anyone ever find her here?

Ironically, at least she had plenty of water to quench her still-raging thirst.

***************

Following Marguerite's footprints wasn't difficult. He was able to track her easily, and quickly realized that she was headed straight back to where she and Ned had been injured. Her lone outgoing footprints paralleled the tracks made when she had brought the young journalist home.

Both sets of footprints had characteristics that disturbed the concerned hunter.

It didn't take Roxton long to see just how difficult a struggle it had been for Marguerite to cover the distance back to the Treehouse with her fading companion. She and Ned had staggered in all directions, weaving back and forth instead of following a direct path - even traveling in a creek for a fair distance! Hauling Ned along through the unsteady footing of a streambed in his condition must have been excruciatingly slow going for the injured pair. Marguerite wouldn't have done this unless she had suspected someone or something was following them - raptors, most likely. She must have used the water to disguise their scent.

Marguerite's newer trail, while more direct, showed the experienced tracker that she wasn't having an easy time of it on this later trek, either - although at least she'd stayed out of the water this time, moving alongside the stream instead of through it. Her pace was unsteady and her footprints were uneven, as if she was having difficulty remaining upright. Yet the trail left by the resolute beauty proved that she had kept going.

Roxton was well away from the Treehouse when he was taken off guard by Marguerite's tracks abruptly veering away from her previous trail. Puzzled, he followed the new trail only to see it swing back to the first one a hundred yards further away. He stopped and looked back along the route she had taken with Ned. _Why did she deviate from the more open ground? Passing through the tall jungle underbrush is much more difficult to navigate than the original trail; why would she do this?_ Curiosity made him go back to see what she'd been avoiding.

Knowing Marguerite did nothing without a reason, he was cautious as he followed the original trail left by the injured duo during their return to the Treehouse. But there was no need for his caution; scavengers had long since picked clean the bones of the three raptors killed by the bullets whose

casings he found lying near the skeletons. _This was what she wanted to skirt around yesterday, the chance that she would run into scavengers who might still be feasting here where she and Ned were jumped on the way home._ Roxton smiled, pleased with this confirmation of her tactical use of the stream to protect her and Ned. But his smile was brief; there was still enough sign to see where Ned had fallen, and to work out how Marguerite had stood over him as she fought off the predators. The hunter shook his head in grim bemusement at the fact that she had kept Ned alive against such odds.

Roxton was now more thoroughly disgusted with himself than he had ever been before in his life. He had been so full of his self-centered morose thoughts of the past that he hadn't even bothered to consider what Marguerite had faced to bring Ned home. _George mentioned it, didn't he? If he could realize what it must have taken out of her to get the lad home, how could I have been so oblivious to the obvious? I actually accused her of not taking good care of Ned!_ He winced as he recalled the devastation in her shadowed eyes yesterday morning when he had virtually come right out and said he didn't trust her.

_Whatever penance she chooses, I'm going to perform it willingly, even if I have to crawl on my hands and knees until she forgives me, _he vowed to himself bitterly_._ _If she ever trusts me again, I'll be luckier than I deserve_.

Moreover, it was high time for him to make a point of praising her for clever things like utilizing that streambed and finding her way home safely. Marguerite needed the assurance that he believed in her. She deserved to have his confidence, to know he truly did trust her despite his teasing to the contrary at times. _At least if I let her know how much I respect her, she'll have that to hang onto in case I behave like a complete jackass again in the future_.

John returned to following her current trail with renewed determination.

Although Marguerite's footprints on this more recent trail indicated she wasn't too steady on her feet, the way she had given the previous day's battle site such a wide berth showed she had still been thinking clearly enough to avoid an obvious place where she might encounter danger. Roxton found

this very reassuring. _She wasn't wandering aimlessly under the influence of a fever when she set out yesterday, but was obviously following a plan with her usual single-mindedness. I'll find her up ahead, just as Veronica hoped, making her way back and royally annoyed with us for being so worried about her now after we behaved like such morons before. _But this hope faded quickly into a more realistic outlook. There was too much danger even close to the Treehouse; the further he went, the greater the danger, and the worse the odds grew.

Marguerite's trail detoured from the main direction of her journey two more times within the next mile. Both times John was able to confirm she had been avoiding contact with her back trail at the scenes of other battles. He couldn't help chuckling ruefully at the carnage she had left in her wake. Sometimes he forgot just how deadly capable the slender brunette could be.

It was noon when Roxton reached a bend in the path where new signs on the trail made his heart lighten with relief. At this point another set of her footprints, more recent, were coming back along the tracks she and Ned had made that first day. Marguerite was headed towards their home again! She must have either found what she wanted, or realized it was getting too late and turned back.

But his relief was short lived as it quickly occurred to him that she couldn't have kept to the trail home, or he'd have run into her already. She had come back toward the Treehouse as far as this spot, but where had she gone from here?

A swift analysis of the freshest sign left by Marguerite's passage showed the skilled hunter that the adventuress had been in much worse shape by this point in her journey, clearly wandering more and more from the original trail. Roxton knelt and touched the tracks to confirm his estimate; yes, they had been made late in the day yesterday.

His stomach clenched and he scanned the underbrush around him as if he hoped to see her step into view. She'd been out here all night long, injured and alone, her condition deteriorating - and she hadn't made it home! _If I had noticed her absence yesterday instead of this morning, I could have found her_

_and brought her home not long after dark. It isn't that far to the Treehouse from here._ But instead of Marguerite being safely home, this latest path abruptly veered in a totally different direction. _Why did she angle off? What happened?!_

He followed the new direction with a sense of foreboding, his grip on his rifle going white-knuckled when he noticed Camposaurus tracks crisscrossing Marguerite's footprints. Roxton quickened his pace, his heart pounding with fear. When he found the traces of her campfire he realized she must have decided on this detour off the trail home so she could stop for the night. Clearly the little dinosaurs had attacked here. The area was awash with tangled sign, Marguerite's bootprints, the tiny dinosaurs' prints, and the remnants of small bones left after the raptors and other carnivores had finished with the carcasses. After a few moments of absolute terror as he worked out the confused tracks in the little clearing, he gave a cry of relief_. There! Marguerite's footprints, leaving the campsite. She survived the attack! Incredible!_

But once again his relief was short-lived. _These tracks are still headed the wrong way - away from the Treehouse._

Quickly he continued along her route of the night before. He was hours closer to her now, closing the distance between them. Judging by her trail, she'd had an uncanny run of luck, but her condition had to be fairly bad. Roxton's eyes swept not just her trail but also the jungle all around him. He had to fight his intense anticipation and urgency, and resist the renewed desire to pick up his pace. Her trail through the jungle was too erratic to risk a misstep now. The possible cost of losing precious time if he had to backtrack to find it again was not something he could afford.

He followed her footprints through a particularly high stand of ferns, and found where she had stopped abruptly, then sidestepped carefully to the left and gone back into the ferns. _What the -?_

_What did she see last night? More importantly, did whatever she saw also spot her?_

A quick scout around the area revealed that there had been a camp concealed here. Marguerite had almost walked into it. One, two, . . . three carefully covered fire pits . . . perhaps two dozen people,

two circles where weapons had been cached while the owners were in camp. Neatly camouflaged, this site would not have been a simple thing for a casual observer to notice. He'd seen campsites like this one before. It had been a while since the Amazons had sent a hunting party into this area of the plateau. They were excellent hunters and varied their hunting grounds to allow game to replenish.

Apparently Marguerite's approach and departure hadn't been noticed by any of the camp's occupants; there was no sign that anyone had followed her. _Why didn't Marguerite go on into the camp and ask for help?_ The all-female tribe had an alliance with the explorers - admittedly, it was a guarded one on both sides, but still, the Amazons would have given aid to the wounded European woman.

_Well, I can ask her when I find her_, he decided, and picked up Marguerite's trail again.

She had started using her rifle as a crutch not long after she left the edge of the Amazon camp. The hunter's concern deepened. He knew these tracks must have been made around the middle of the night, maybe a little later. Marguerite had to have been completely exhausted and in tremendous pain, or she would never have yielded to using her rifle like that even if she'd been feverish. _How she hates to reveal weakness or a need for support! She must've been in bad shape, and there's simply nowhere in this area where she could have found shelter for the remainder of the night._

Again he had to resist his longing to rush ahead to find Marguerite. He cursed the plateau, with its myriad of dangers. Between her failing physical condition and the plethora of hazards that might face her at any moment, he had to stick tight to where she had been or he could miss a detail that might mean the difference between life and death for Marguerite. Reluctant as John was to face the possibility, he was also all too aware that the odds of her survival under these conditions weren't good. Every minute of delay lessened those odds considerably.

_She could be dead already_. With a grunt of anger, Roxton gritted his teeth and kicked the grave foreboding back into a dark corner of his mind. _I refuse to accept that a woman with her skills and knack for self-preservation would give up while there's an ounce of strength in her. Not Marguerite, not in a hundred years! She'll fight to live, and I'll reach her in time! All I have to do is hold to her trail and I'll find her any moment now._

It was a good thing he played it safe, because he soon realized he was no longer the only one following the ailing woman. Someone else had spotted Marguerite's trail sometime that morning. Now there was another man following the injured beauty.

Roxton reluctantly took the time to study the tracks. If this person was a foe, he needed to understand his opponent. The newcomer was not worried about concealment, and his trail indicated he was several hours closer to Marguerite than her housemate. The stranger had come from another direction, but once he'd seen Marguerite's tracks he had followed her instead of maintaining his original heading. There was something familiar about the sign left by this new player in the game. It was definitely a man, probably heavier than Roxton to judge by his stride and the size and imprint of his tracks. He wasn't barefoot, but his prints did not show a hard sole, and this wasn't the mark of Zanga tribal footwear - or any other tribe Roxton was familiar with, either.

_Whoever he is, he'd better keep his distance from Marguerite if he isn't friendly, or I'll make him pay._ _He'd better not get overly friendly, either,_ Roxton growled to himself.

As Roxton followed the man following Marguerite, his concern grew stronger. Although there was no evidence that the stranger had done anything to hide his passage, his tracks vanished several times only to be revealed again by slight traces of his movements that Roxton only saw because he was lucky. This was one very good woodsman!

Why would such a person be following Marguerite? A headhunter, perhaps? Or a cannibal? A slaver? As a rule, members of these groups traveled in numbers, not alone. But one could never count on rules being consistent here on the plateau. Anything could and often did happen. Whoever he was, the stranger stuck right to the wounded woman's trail.

John's jaw clenched as he noted evidence that Marguerite had fallen several times. _She made less progress along this section of her trail. Her condition must have been worsening rapidly_, he thought grimly as he scanned ahead. Her tracks were much fresher now - she'd been covering distance much more slowly as her strength waned, and though to his anxious mind it felt as if he were moving slower than a turtle, he was apparently making better time than he feared. He judged that he was only about six hours behind her now. Then he saw something that made his step falter.

That depression up ahead - the way the ground and shrubs were crushed flat, small tree trunks snapped clean as a heavy weight had descended abruptly on them - a Tyrannosaurus Rex had bedded down there, and Marguerite's footprints wove right toward that spot!

He felt like he'd been sucker-punched. For the first time since he'd begun following her trail, Roxton actually prayed that it would veer off on a tangent.

But it didn't.

Even a less experienced eye than the world-class hunter's wouldn't have had any trouble reading the story of what had happened when Marguerite ran into that sleeping dinosaur in the darkness. The mark where her rifle had slipped was still clear to see between the deeply indented tracks where the T-Rex had hit the ground on both angry feet as he came upright.

Roxton broke into panicked run, forgetting all caution as he easily followed the ragged course of smashed trees and flattened underbrush left behind by the T-Rex as it had chased Marguerite. She hadn't much of a head start, but a T-Rex's night vision was poor at best. Roxton could feel his heart pounding frantically as he charged along the path of destruction. _Normally, Marguerite could have managed to outsmart even a T-Rex, but in her condition . . . Please, let there be a miracle! Please, let her have escaped! Please -_

The trail ended at a broad expanse of murky-green water at the foot of a waterfall. The T-Rex had charged right in, its huge sunken footprints as vivid as the marks where Marguerite had slid down that embankment and into the churning waves near where the falling water impacted the pond. And there at the edge of the indentation of one huge clawed footprint just above water level was Marguerite's smashed hat.

He fell to his knees and retrieved the hat she had worn since the day they disembarked from the ocean ship that had brought them to South American shores. His arms fell limply to his sides as he stared from the crumpled felt hat on his lap to the inky depths of the pool before him._ If she fell down that bank with a T-Rex right behind her, there's no way she could have... She must not have... Gone?! It can't end like this! I never even told her - _

"No!" the agonized cry burst from Roxton's throat as he jerked to his feet again on the muddy, heavily marred bank, grasping the mangled hat in both hands.

"No."

At the simple word coming from behind him, the British nobleman spun, cursing as he realized he had forgotten about the presence of the other man. Roxton's rifle was up and aimed by the time he faced the speaker. But he stayed his trigger finger. "You!" _Of course! Should have remembered his tracks!_

"It took you longer to get here than I expected," said the other man critically, ignoring the weapon. "Why did you let your woman get so far ahead of you?"

The sight of his tattooed face brought quick recognition to the younger man's eyes, but it was the deep-voiced words that set John's heart pounding wildly again, this time with hope. "Marguerite? Where is she?! Is she all right?" Roxton took a quick look around, lowering his gun instead of keeping it trained on the powerfully built man. He knew from their previous encounter that firearms wouldn't be much use if this native man wanted to fight him - but John also instinctively knew that Kartas's purpose in waiting here for him was not one of violence.

Kartas smiled sardonically, tilting his head a bit in acknowledgment of the respect Roxton paid him by lowering his weapon. "She is there." He watched the younger hunter follow the gesture of his crisply raised arm, looking in the direction of the waterfall.

But Roxton's eager perusal of the falls, the cliffs, and even the entire circumference of the small lake proved to be disappointing. As far as he could tell, there was no sign of Marguerite. He met Kartas's green eyes again, one brow lifted.

Kartas waited patiently, his approval of Roxton's quick scan apparent. The native's hand dropped to his belt, then lifted to flick a handful of sparkling dust into the air beside him. It hung there, shimmering, and an image materialized among the glittery bits.

As he recognized Marguerite huddled on a small ledge, John decided that he wasn't even going to try to tell George about this. The hunter couldn't begin to imagine how to explain the midair phenomenon, and he doubted that Kartas would be willing to make his glittery substance available to the scientist for examination. The dust was bound to be something sacred to Kartas's tribe anyway.

Pushing aside this errant line of thought, John feasted his eyes on his beloved while he could. The image was only a brief one, already fading almost before its edges were clearly defined. Hopefully her stillness meant she was sleeping, not anything worse. It only took a moment for Roxton to realize that the water and rock he was seeing around her meant she was behind the waterfall.

The tall hunter spun again, staring at the lovely waterfall. It covered a wide span, spilling over from a height that would make it a force to reckon with as it plunged downward. The base was almost completely obscured by a heavy mist rising from the churning impact area, but the hunter could discern no visible break in the downpour.

"It will take both of us to get your woman out from under there," Kartas said flatly. "I have made rope while waiting for you to arrive." He indicated the ground as Roxton glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was quite a coil of jungle vine ready for use.

Roxton nodded, seeing where the native hunter was heading with this. He leaned his gun against a nearby tree, hung Marguerite's muddy scrunched up hat on its muzzle to start drying, shrugged off his heavy backpack and placed it with the rifle, pulled off his boots, then untied Challenger's precious medicine pouch from his belt and added it to the pile. "I'll go. She's never seen you," he said simply as he picked up one end of the vine and rigged a harness for himself.

The older man nodded gravely. It made sense for Roxton to be the one to go through the falls after his woman. At their last meeting, Kartas had been gone before the group from the Treehouse returned to where Largo had shot him. Despite his need for urgent medical care from his own people, the native had waited long enough to use his vision dust to watch Largo's demise. The dust had shown him how the noble hunter's woman had tackled the formidable jungle blonde to save her man's life. Her timely intervention had enabled the dark-haired man with his odd Marquis of Queensbury fighting ideals to succeed in carrying out the sentence decreed for Largo. Witnessing the imposter's death had been a mere formality, though; Kartas had not doubted that the worthy stranger would do the right thing.

The Treehouse was too far from his usual tribal grounds for it to be practical to form a deeper friendship with the strangers, but Kartas had never forgotten them. He had followed their trails enough on that long ago day to know the woman's sign as well as he knew Roxton's. Though he and the dark-haired woman had never met, once he'd seen Marguerite's footprints today he had known instantly to whom they belonged - and also that her mate would most likely not be far behind. This was good, since the facial tattoos that were a distinguishing mark of his people would undoubtedly be unsettling to Roxton's woman. The broad-shouldered warrior had no wish to give the woman cause to attack him with her weapon. Let Roxton go get her; she would not shoot her own man.

Kartas didn't bother with platitudes or instructions. Roxton had earned the native man's respect over two years ago. Not many men outside his own tribe could be considered his equal, but this younger man had impressed Kartas with his integrity and skill. It would be an insult to offer unnecessary directions. If there were details he needed to know, Roxton would ask. False pride would not cause him to risk his woman's safety.

John considered the falls again as he adjusted the rough harness over his broad shoulders. "Have you ever tried to go through?" Surely there must be some experience behind Kartas's wise preparation of the rope.

"I have been to this place before, many years ago, when I was much younger and stronger, " the tattooed man confirmed. "There was a giant creature that came here to spawn its young. It had the body of a giant plant eater, the thick neck of the king of snakes, and was powerful enough to survive the pressure of the waterfall as it reached through to feed its young. It nested its young there behind the water where it would be safe until it had grown enough to swim through the water barrier and into the open. The beast was a scourge to my people. We watched, learned, and planned."

Kartas's eyes had a faraway look as he continued. "One day we waited for it to come feed its young, and while its neck and head were under the waterfall, we attacked and killed it. None of us were strong enough to pass through the waters to kill the young beast and return unaided. The waterfall wanted to keep those who passed through, and kept throwing them back behind itself when they tried to return to us. We sent two strong men, fastened with ropes held by the others on shore. After some testing, we learned to tell when they tried to cross back through the barrier by the force of the struggle along the line while they were fighting the water. The only way the trapped ones can be freed is if those on shore draw in the line to help them overcome the current and turbulence." His sharp clear gaze returned to Roxton. "This I will do for you when I feel your weight on the vines again." Kartas nodded toward the vines he had prepared.

That was pretty much as Roxton had suspected. It was going to be a rough trip in, and even rougher coming out with Marguerite. He looked up at the sun. It had passed its zenith. By the time they had Marguerite out of there and had tended her wounds it would be too late to make it home tonight. He glanced over at Kartas. "Where did your people stay while you were stalking the plesiosaur - the beast that spawned its young here?"

Kartas pointed to the steep rocky hill on the near side of the waterfall. "There is a place, there. It is stocked with wood and I have laid boughs for your woman." His green eyes twinkled, and his lips twitched. "I also mended the roof while waiting for you to arrive."

Roxton managed a wan smile, knowing the other man was attempting to assure him the prospects of rescuing Marguerite were good, teasing him like this to encourage him. "I know, I know. It took longer for me to get here than you expected," he played along courteously, though his eyes kept straying back toward the falls. "You don't know Marguerite. Keeping up with her would require the cavalry - er, mounted horsemen."

Kartas smiled broadly. "I, too, have such a woman. I understand."

Giving one last tug on the harness to be sure it would hold, the younger man waded out into the water. He grimaced; it felt downright icy after the warmth of the midday sun. Marguerite was probably chilled to the bone. He called over his shoulder, "Would you mind lighting that fire, Kartas? She's going to be pretty cold."

The tattooed man nodded. "It will be ready, Roxton." He had gathered the rest of the coiled vine, and was in the process of running his end of it around a tree he had already selected to anchor himself when it was time to pull the couple back through the waterfall.

Once the vine rope was secured, Kartas collected his friend's belongings and moved them to the campground where they would spend the night. He carefully lit the fire, and checked to be sure that the draft hole in the woven thatch roof was clear. Then he returned to his post at the waterside.

By then Roxton was out of sight, the rope trailing into the water and bobbing roughly into the misted and churning deluge at the base of the waterfall.

Kartas waited patiently, holding the line loosely in one hand, alert to a change in the pressure on its bobbing length, and keeping a sharp eye out for predators.

***************

Marguerite didn't know how long she had been behind the falls. All she knew for certain was that she felt miserable. She couldn't stop shivering, and keeping anything in focus was becoming more and more difficult. Staring at the back of the waterfall to use it as a measuring stick of her condition had proven to be counterproductive. Its overall position might be stationary, but its constant state of motion only made her feel more dizzy and nauseated.

Fortunately for her sanity, she had found a beetle floating in the water. Just fishing it out had required patience and coordination as she tried to scoop the shiny red and blue insect from the constantly moving surface. Time and again it had vanished under the deluge, only to pop back into view a few moments later and wash up against the ledge. It took what seemed like hours for Marguerite to succeed in pouncing - if her awkward, pained movement could be called pouncing - at the right moment to capture the beetle in her cupped hand.

Now she guarded the insect from being splashed away, careful not to allow it to slide back over the ledge. She had grown rather fond of the little beetle as she used it to define what was real and what wasn't. Dead beetles didn't move - or at least, they shouldn't, even if they happened to be beautifully colored. If her tiny companion had been moving from side to side on the mossy rock she might have thought it wasn't dead after all. _But even live beetles don't levitate - well, this is the plateau - but no,_

Marguerite told herself sternly. _Even here on the plateau, beetles can't levitate, alive or dead_. _As long as my beetle stays on terra firma, reality is in place and I can trust my perceptions._ Conversely, when the pretty beetle began shifting position vertically, rising into the air, Marguerite knew that her fever had returned full force.

Right now, to her dismay, the red and blue beetle was flitting about in midair. _Great. Fever's getting worse again_. Sliding back into the water might ease the fever somewhat, but she didn't think she could endure the other effect produced by immersion into the cold fluid. The last time she had eased into the water to gain control of her body's temperature, she almost hadn't made it back onto the ledge. She was afraid that if she tried it again she would go totally numb and end up drowning. _Although_, she reflected with a momentary flicker of humor, _dying would definitely lower my temperature_. She shrugged wryly at the ridiculous thought, then grimaced at the resulting stab of pain in her ribs. Her injuries were causing a noticeably increased amount of pain now, making her efforts to stay conscious and lucid a mixed blessing. Retaining consciousness meant she still had a chance of figuring out how to escape, but it also meant she felt every single throbbing ache.

Moreover, the noise had grown overwhelming, making her head hurt abominably. She had never before realized how loud water could be. It was pounding in her ears with such high volume that she could barely hear herself think. _At least thinking is an activity that doesn't hurt_ she mused.

It was more and more difficult to maintain consciousness, and her poor pretty beetle was bouncing up and down with increasing speed, but she refused to let the noisy wall defeat her. If she could just focus her thoughts, she would be able to figure out a way to get out of this fix. It couldn't end this way. She had always been able to come up with a plan when the chips were down. She just had to _think_ . . . had to find something her mind could get hold of and hang onto . . . something besides her beetle.

Perhaps focusing on her friends would help keep her awake and aware. What would they be doing back home right now? Was Ned still hanging onto life? The young man was a fighter. _I'll put my money on Malone any day - actually, I guess I already did, didn't I, when I funded this Expedition? The Challenger Expedition. Challenger_, she decided foggily, _is probably hunched over a bench in his lab right now, trying to come up with an even better infection-fighting agent than our white powder. He'll come up with some miracle cure for Malone that will eventually win great accolades for 'the brilliant George Edward Challenger' and benefit the whole world._

_Veronica has probably heard of something, or more likely remembers having read about it in one of her parents' journals, that'll prove to be just what Challenger needs. She'll nurse Ned_ _carefully, barely leaving his bedside. If loving care can turn the tide in Ned's favor, he'll surely be perfectly healthy by the time I make it back to the Treehouse. There's nothing Veronica won't do for her friends and family._

Of course that train of thought led her to another characteristically self-sacrificing member of their party. _John, of course, will be doing whatever needs to be done, as usual. As long as Ned can't do his share, it will be up to John to handle all the heavy chores. He'll probably also take up the slack with Veronica's chores while she's busy with Ned. He takes so much on himself,_ she thought fondly, _too much for any one person._

_I wish I were back at the Treehouse. I should be there to help John and Veronica. _

_No, wait, helping is what got me into this mess to begin with - I very nearly killed myself stopping those raptors - not to mention getting Ned back to the Treehouse. If I had any common sense at all I should have left Ned and simply gotten myself out of there. John_ - Marguerite lost her train of thought as a particularly strong wave surged up onto her precarious perch and nearly washed away her air-surfing beetle. She almost didn't realize the danger in time to rescue it, and the sudden unplanned movement brought stars and colored flashes of light before her eyes.

For a long moment it was all she could do not to scream out at the pain - not that anyone could have heard her above the absurdly noisy water's constant roar, but noise was a no-no. Oh, wait - that rule belonged to a different lifetime, didn't it? Or did it?

_Focus, Marguerite_, she scolded herself mentally. _Discipline. Control._ It was vital if she were to survive. Marguerite blinked hard at the shiny little blob of color on her palm until its outline cleared up and it became her red and blue beetle. _Good_. She settled it carefully on the ledge again, a bit further away from the dangerous rim. At least the pain of rescuing it seemed to have cleared her mind again.

_Now what was I thinking about?_ She smiled faintly at the image of a tall, handsome, bare-chested sun-bronzed man with short, dark, curling hair, twinkling green eyes, a smile to die for, and a voice that stirred her all the way to her soul with its sincerity and honor. _Roxton_.

She admitted honestly to herself that she never would have stayed with Malone if not for what she had learned from Roxton during the last three years. _I'd have written Ned off because the odds were too heavily against him, and one has to play the odds in order to be alive at the end of the day. I've lived so long - too long, perhaps - with the darker realities of survival. Everything I thought I knew to be true about life made what I've seen in John seemed absurdly impossible to believe in at first_. But she had seen his example mirrored in the lives of Challenger, Ned, Veronica, and Summerlee as well. It was making her wonder if her childhood disenchantment with fairytale morals had been premature. Maybe life didn't need to be a solitary struggle for survival - maybe there _could_ still be love and friendship and beautiful, lofty principles that didn't have to be betrayed in the course of living.

In fact, the way Veronica and Roxton had spoken to her that night after tending Ned went against everything she knew about them. Perhaps her initial assessment had been correct after all. Perhaps it really had only been the extreme emotions of suddenly finding Ned so badly injured, so soon after they had all been rejoicing at his return to them. _But why did they have to take it out on me? If that's all it was . . ._

Yes, surely that was all it had been. _John at least wants to believe the best of me_, she reflected with a frown of concentration. _Although I once vowed that no man could be trusted, John has proven himself over and over, promising he would never give up on me. He's such an adorable man . . . I told him so, didn't I? No, no, I told his double, that's right, in the dinosaur graveyard. I haven't told John._

A lone tear slipped down her cheek, warm against her chilled skin. _I'm going to die here, and I still haven't told him that I love him. I know he's wanted to talk about our feelings for one another. He's trying to prove to me that I matter deeply to him. If I can't find a way to get out of here, John will never know what he means to me, what a difference he's made in my life. He won't have any way to find out what happened to me, and he'll end up blaming himself. No, I can't have that. I have to hold on somehow, have to find a way . . . Besides, I have to make them pay for their doubt . . . don't I?_

Marguerite stirred stiffly and squinted over at the beetle again, frowning because its bright colors were blending into purple and it seemed to be spinning around now. _I must be getting worse_. She clenched her fist until the pain of her nails biting into her palm pierced the numbness that gripped her. She couldn't give up. She had to fight this fever and this bloody waterfall, and find a way to get home if for no other reason than to give Roxton and Veronica a hard time for not trusting her. She had proven herself over and over in the past three years, hadn't she? They should have believed her without needing proof.

Wait - hadn't she been through this before? Marguerite gave an exasperated sigh, deciding she must be stuck in a logic loop. _Now how would Challenger solve this dilemma?_

When it happened, her instinctive reaction was to ignore it as an illusion. After all, it would have taken a bona fide miracle for Roxton to find her here. As expert a hunter as her handsome hero was, there was just no way that it was humanly possible for anyone, even Lord John Richard Roxton, to track a person through a waterfall. So when his body hurtled up out of the water, propelled by the backwash of the falls, Marguerite didn't believe he was real until John knelt over her with his hand touching her cheek - his _warm_ hand! She gave a start of surprise as the heat from his fingers began to spread to her chilled skin. "John?"

He couldn't hear her voice over the thundering roar of the cascading liquid, but he understood the word her trembling lips formed. He grinned down at her, nodding, then put his head close enough to speak into her ear. "Are you ready to go home, my dear?"

Shuddering at the sensation of his warm breath against her ear and neck, Marguerite slowly lifted a shaking hand to touch his stubbled jaw, unaware that she was crying as she stared up at him in wonder. His darling features pinched into a scowl of concern for her as he gathered her quivering body into his arms. _Roxton is here - he's really here!_ She buried her face against his wet shoulder and relished the solid feel of him.

For his part, Roxton cherished the sensation of Marguerite in his arms every bit as much. Finding her alive relieved some of the crushing burden of anxiety and self-blame he'd been carrying ever since he'd realized she was missing. Yet as much as John wanted to hold her and infuse her with his own body heat, he knew he had to get her out of this place first. Though she was ice cold to his touch, her skin was flushed with fever and her slender body was wracked with continual, deep shivers. She needed that medicinal powder applied to her wounds, and she needed to be warm and dry. He rose to his feet with Marguerite still in his arms, balancing carefully with his precious load on the slippery mosses that covered the ledge. He started to tug the dangling vine upward, trying to gather enough line to secure her shuddering body to his during their passage to open air.

Marguerite began to struggle, startling him. She clearly understood his intention of preparing to dive back into the waterfall, but she resisted his efforts to get the vine tied around her, stubbornly fighting him despite her weakness. Roxton hesitated, frowning as he realized she was trying to tell him something. He couldn't hear her words over the cacophony surrounding them. He lowered his head, turning his face so that her lips were at his ear.

"-pack! I won't go without the -"

He gave a crisp nod to indicate his understanding and looked around sharply. He had noticed the knapsack, of course, but ignored it until now as unimportant. The backpack - _Ned's?_ - was shoved into a cleft between the mossy rock and the cliff wall. _She didn't take a pack with her, so this must have something to do with what she wanted to find when she left the Treehouse. What could Ned have in there that would show us she was telling the truth? Guess she retrieved it from somewhere along their trail. _He set Marguerite down long enough to scoop up the pack and attach her rifle to it, strapping it onto his broad shoulders. She nodded up at him with what was probably an attempt at a smile of approval, though her teeth were chattering too hard for it to be more than a grimace.

Then she pointed a wobbly finger at the ledge. _Amazing how she goes on issuing commands no matter what kind of situation she finds herself in_, he marveled as he bent almost double in an effort to locate what she was pointing toward.

It wasn't enough; Roxton had to get down on his knees before he could find what she wanted.

When he saw it, his head snapped up to stare at her in disbelief. _A dead_ _beetle_?! But after meeting the look of entreaty in her beautiful green eyes, he sighed. Resigned to the inevitable, he picked up the bug with two fingers and carefully tucked it into his shirt pocket. Marguerite nodded her relieved thanks and let him lift her into his arms again. He pulled a sufficient length of vine up from the water and wrapped it securely around them both, strapping the shaking brunette to his chest where he could get hold of her quickly if necessary.

Then he lowered his mouth to her ear again and said loudly, "Time to go. Take a good deep breath, Marguerite."

Her silver-green eyes gazed into his darker green orbs, and he marveled at the trust in him that she conveyed as she nodded jerkily and feebly clung to him. He gave her a reassuring smile, signaled her to take that deep breath by doing so himself, made sure she followed his example - then dove into the waterfall, Marguerite hanging on with every bit of strength she still possessed.

As the massive deluge pummeled them down and backward, he kept part of his attention on the tension of the rope binding them together, making sure Marguerite was still there. Having felt the inexorable force that had pushed him into the space behind the falls the first time, he knew he had to fight it, but quickly lost any sense of which direction he had to battle as the water tumbled them end over end.

He was beginning to feel a dire need for oxygen, and to fear that they would end up back on that ledge, when he felt the harness tighten about his chest. Relieved, he knew Kartas was pulling from shore.

Gradually the undertow of the waterfall diminished as both hunters exerted all their strength against it, until Roxton was finally able to see the sunlight through the surface above them. Lungs burning, he stroked upwards, aware that Marguerite's arms were no longer wrapped around his back or shoulders. She hung limply against him.

The first thing he did when he broke through the surface, even as he was sucking air into his aching lungs, was make certain Marguerite's face was above water and check to be sure she was breathing. Her slender frame was suspiciously unmoving, no sign of her previous feverish shivering.

SHE WASN'T BREATHING_! Lord, please, no -!_

Knowing Kartas would tow them to land, Roxton focused on simply staying afloat as he turned the helpless woman's back against his chest, wrapped his arms about her, and squeezed as tightly as he dared. _Have to stay calm, remember what Summerlee taught us about resuscitation after meeting up with the Christecs! Count . . . careful . . . apply pressure . . . count . . .careful . . . apply pressure . . ._

After an eternally long moment, Marguerite coughed up water. Roxton laughed in relief as she thrashed feebly in protest, delighted when he felt her abdomen moving with the expansion and

contraction of her diaphragm as she inhaled and exhaled. He grinned up over his shoulder as he felt the embankment beneath him again. "She's breathing," he announced triumphantly. "And she's shivering again!"

Kartas's dark eyes twinkled in understanding as he extended his strong brown hand to Roxton and hauled the couple up onto dry land. He helped Roxton unfasten the safety line binding them. Roxton let his co-rescuer take Marguerite from him, and set to work untangling the rest of the vine harness as quickly as possible. Her lashes began to flutter open as the native hunter stood patiently with the shaking brunette securely in his arms.

Marguerite took one look into the tattoo-covered face and promptly fainted dead away.

Kartas and Roxton exchanged rueful smiles.

**************

Veronica paced restlessly along the balcony, more and more concerned as the sun dropped below the horizon.

Roxton should have been back with Marguerite long before now. It was discouraging that there was neither sign of him coming up the trail nor any trace of a mirror signal. It meant he hadn't yet found their missing friend, or that she was so ill he couldn't move her or spare time from tending her. Veronica didn't like either of these possibilities.

She glanced over the edge of the railing as she heard pacing and muttering on the lower level beneath her own position. Challenger was apparently just as uneasy, not able to concentrate on the simplest tasks in his lab. He'd been alternating between hovering over Ned and pacing on the balcony, eyes searching the jungle around the Treehouse for Roxton's return with Marguerite. Veronica had heard him mumbling something about how he should have suspected the missing woman's injuries.

_But how Challenger can fault himself for Marguerite's disappearance is more than I can understand,_ she sighed to herself. _Knowing Marguerite, I'm sure_ _Roxton is correct; there must be something she wants to find or do that she believes will vindicate her. _Veronica shifted uneasily, a frown creasing her brow as she once again scanned the vista below in search of some sign that the last members of the family were almost home. _Whatever her goal, there wouldn't have been a problem at all if I hadn't accused her of luring Ned to where he was hurt in the first place. George didn't do or say anything that could have provoked her into leaving, so he shouldn't blame himself._

On the positive side, Ned was doing well. His temperature had stayed almost normal all day, and his wounds were looking much better. Challenger was confident that Ned's continued sleep was quite normal and restorative. The scientist who had reluctantly undertaken the task of being their resident healer had assured her half a dozen times that he expected Malone to wake up any moment.

After Roxton's hurried departure mid-morning, Veronica had divided her time between Ned and Marguerite's rooms and the kitchen. Sitting with Ned and gratefully observing his pallor ease into a healthier version of his usual sun-gilded skin tones had been the best part of her day. She had helped Challenger change Ned's bandages, and had been cheered by the way Ned's injuries were finally showing indications of healing. Though Ned was still hovering on the edge of consciousness, not really aware of anything happening around him, he was no longer tossing and turning as he had through that first night. It wasn't necessary to restrain him or to force liquids into him, even though he had yet to open his endearing blue eyes.

Veronica had devoted a fair amount of time to clearing away the remnants of both Ned and Marguerite's clothes. She had also scrubbed Marguerite's floor, and then cleaned the rest of the room for good measure, hoping to make it as pleasant as possible during her friend's recovery. Challenger had taken on the task of sorting the used bandages from the damaged clothes and making the attempt to clean everything as thoroughly as possible. He had succeeded with the bandages, which were now ready for reuse when Roxton brought the missing beauty home. The clothing, however, would never be the same. Both George and Veronica were certain Marguerite wouldn't want to wear the abbreviated skirt again anyway. The stained camisole, on the other hand, was another matter entirely; the fashion-conscious woman valued these lacy, impractical articles of clothing more than anything else in her wardrobe. Veronica had examined the camisole to see if she could mend it, but the necessary needlework was too complex for her basic sewing skills. It would have to wait for the older woman's more advanced techniques.

Examination of the damaged skirt and camisole had led them to conclude that Marguerite must have been bitten on the right side, and clawed along her right upper thigh. It was also possible that she had been clawed across her abdomen, though Veronica wasn't perfectly sure it was raptor claws that had torn the camisole there. She thought it was just as likely to be damage made by the brunette's knife as she had made bandages out of her shirt for Ned.

_It was smart of Marguerite, using the plants as pressure pads instead of folding up her limited supply of cloth_, Veronica admitted to herself. _She was able to keep the cloth for holding the folded leaves in place. It was a very good use of resources at hand - I wouldn't have expected her to think of it_.

Challenger had been just as impressed with the ingenuity shown by the brunette. Marguerite had even picked a type of fern that would not secrete harmful natural juices, though the scientist had mused that she couldn't have known that - at least, he hadn't thought she could have known. With Marguerite, he had added when he and Veronica had talked it over, it was hard to tell.

Veronica found herself smiling as she continued to scan the jungle, remembering the mixture of admiration and resentment in George's expression as he had uttered that last bit. _It's funny how it baffles poor Challenger's scientific nature not to be able to classify Marguerite and her extensive range of experience and know-how_._ I wonder if she does it to him on purpose? It would be just like Marguerite to amuse herself by deliberately tantalizing George with bits and pieces of her knowledge without filling in the blanks for him. _

Veronica's fleeting smile faded as she considered her missing friend again. _There doesn't seem to be much that Marguerite hasn't done or doesn't know something about. Every time we think we've figured her out, some new facet of her past or personality becomes known. Heiress, gifted geologist, enthusiastic gemologist, linguist extraordinaire, possible international jewel thief, one-time-singer, occasional clairvoyant, master seamstress, glamorous seductress, probable widow_ _- it frustrates the daylights out of our great genius George Edward Challenger to be unable to pin down who and what the mysterious Miss Krux really is. When it comes to Marguerite, he knows no more than the rest of us._

_One thing's for certain, though; as much as she pretends she doesn't care what we think of her, I know I hurt Marguerite when I blamed her for Ned's encounter with the raptors. Three years ago when the Challenger Expedition first arrived here, she never would have let me see it, though now I'm pretty certain she felt our lack of trust back then, too. I know her so much better now - how could I let myself get so angry with her?!_

"Veronica!"

Challenger's call from the lower level brought her out of her brooding and back into the present. _Ned!_ She moved anxiously from the balcony to the top of the stairs. "Yes?"

He was poised at the bottom of the steps, excitement dancing in his pale blue eyes. His smile widened as he looked up at her in obvious delight at the good news he was about to offer. "Ned is awake. Would you bring some of that broth you made earlier?"

Veronica's face lit up with pleasure. "Right away!" she agreed happily, and hurried to the kitchen with a lighter step. It didn't take long to ladle out some of the broth that had been ready for hours now. She set the bowl and spoon on the tray she had already prepared for the time when Ned might want to eat. After adding a cup of fresh herbal tea, Veronica carried the tray down to Ned's room.

Challenger met her at the door. "I elevated him a tad, but we shouldn't raise him any more for at least a few more hours," he cautioned. "Don't push for much detail yet. He shouldn't be excited, and you know how he gets when he tells his stories. I'll just - er - go watch for Roxton until it's too dark to see a signal."

"Thank you," Veronica smiled up at him, appreciating his tact in allowing her this time alone with Ned. She knew he was well aware that it was already too dark to seriously hope for a signal from Roxton tonight.

He patted her shoulder, his cheeks reddening a bit. "You're welcome, my dear," he replied gruffly, and paused to give her one more searching look as Veronica's blue eyes sought Ned. _I've never seen her so worried about Marguerite. I wonder if Veronica said something to her privately that she hasn't told us, or if she's merely grasped the probable severity of Marguerite's wounds, as I did, from the materials we cleaned up earlier._

As he'd separated the wide fern fronds from the other materials jumbled on Marguerite's floor, he had performed some simple calculations and come to the uneasy conclusion that the quantity of materials indicated Marguerite had at least three severe injuries, as well as some lesser ones. He had refrained from mentioning it to the pretty young blonde, not wanting to confirm her fears when she was already suffering as she fretted over Roxton's delayed return. _Judging from what I've seen, we might face just as many difficulties treating Marguerite as we did Malone. Now should be a good time to set about preparing extra supplies for when Roxton arrives home with her. I'll be able to accomplish a goodly amount of work without alarming Veronica unduly if I can gather the necessary ingredients while her attention is on the lad. _The ginger-haired scientist slipped quietly away to his lab once he was sure Veronica was focused on the bed-ridden reporter.

Ned was watching for Veronica when she arrived, so when she stopped in the doorway and looked toward him he was able to meet her eyes immediately. Challenger had tucked several pillows behind him so he could recline at an angle instead of lying flat on his back. The injured man managed a smile, his eyes warming as she came to the bedside and seated herself in the chair Challenger had been occupying when Ned had awakened.

"Hi," she offered softly, settling the tray on her lap and feasting her gaze on him. _He looks so much better! His color is almost normal, he's alert, and he's glad to see me! _

"Hi," he answered softly, seeming content to simply look at her.

Veronica realized she shouldn't be just sitting there. She straightened, clearing her throat. "Oh, I - um - have some soup for you. Something to help you get well." She could feel her face heating as she busied herself with rearranging the things on the tray in preparation for spoon feeding the broth to him.

Her feelings about the handsome young American were so complex. _I like our relationship; he's so easy to be comfortable with most of the time. Ned has become as close a friend as any I've ever had. He's someone I can trust with my life in times of danger, as well as someone who's shared a lot of fun times with me. And yet there's this weird . . . thing . . . that makes my heart pound at the oddest moments_. She'd been trying to figure it out for a long time now, wavering between being sure she loved him and being frustrated with the mixed signals he was always sending, as if he didn't know his own mind any better than she knew hers.

Nearly losing him like this, perhaps because it came so soon after the horrible days when they had known Ned was alive but hadn't known how to bring him back from being trapped in the spirit world, had been one of the most difficult things Veronica had ever faced. _Ned's unexpected brush with death gave me the same empty, panicked feeling in my chest that I used to get when I first began to realize Daddy and Mother's return wasn't simply delayed, but that I'd lost them. How can the thought of losing Ned be as traumatic as my parents' disappearance unless I love him? _

Unwilling to deal with her puzzling feelings, she deliberately tried to suppress the too-recent grief and despair of Ned's latest encounter with deadly danger, and busied herself spooning the broth into his mouth.

Ned swallowed a half dozen spoonfuls before he refused to accept more.

Surprised, she actually looked into his eyes again. Instantly she could see he was aware of her ploy to avoid her emotional distress. She should have known that his discerning journalist's instincts would see through her smoke screen of activity. Of course he could sense that something was bothering her!

Ned looked at her searchingly for only a moment before he said contritely, "I'm sorry, Veronica. I really messed up this time, didn't I?"

She frowned, perplexed since she couldn't make a connection between their tangled relationship and his apology. "I beg your pardon?"

Ned sighed. "I've caused everyone a lot of worry." He looked away, then back again, his pale face flushing as he admitted, "I should have listened to Marguerite."

Veronica blinked. Well, this wasn't a much better topic than the one she had been dwelling on, but at least she wouldn't have to try to explain what she'd really been worrying over instead of his latest misadventure. Then she winced as it dawned on her that his words were an implied confirmation of how she had misjudged the other woman. She regretted that instinctive reaction immediately when she saw Ned's blue eyes sharpen. In an effort to delay revealing that Marguerite was missing because of her wretched suspicions, she went on the offensive, sticking to what Ned mistakenly believed was uppermost on her mind. "Yes, you certainly should have listened. It's too easy to be hurt on this plateau, and often it's too far from help when danger strikes. You were lucky this time, _very_ lucky, Edward T. Malone," she scolded sternly. "But we won't talk about that now. Just drink your broth."

He submitted meekly enough, opening his mouth obediently when she raised the spoon again. But when Veronica chanced a quick glance from beneath her lashes, Ned was still watching her keenly. She knew that look in his eyes; he smelled a story, and he wasn't going to relax until he had it scoped out. _He understands there's something more happening than I'm saying. Right now he's puzzling through the possibilities._ _I think it's safe to say Ned won't even consider the topic of our relationship as a potential issue. However, odds are much better that it won't be long until he realizes neither Roxton nor Marguerite has visited him. What can I tell him then?_

When his eyes sharpened and narrowed in realization, she braced herself.

"It's Marguerite, isn't it?" Ned demanded apprehensively, then startled her by attempting to push the covers off and swing his legs off his bed. "Where is she? How badly is she hurt? I have to see her. I have to apologize!"

Alarmed at the damage he would do to his numerous wounds if he succeeded in getting to his feet, Veronica hastily set the tray on the night table, sloshing soup over the edge of the bowl in the process. She pushed Ned back down onto the mattress, and when he still tried to struggle up she found herself blurting out, "Marguerite's not here, Malone! Settle down!" _Ugh! Why'd I say that?! That's only going to make it worse!_ Hoping to distract her patient and also reassure herself of his condition, the young blonde quickly began to check his bandages for sign of fresh bleeding, and started scolding. "Do you want to tear open all these wounds again? Honestly, Ned!"

Ned groaned in distress as his incautious movements set his injuries to protesting. He sank back on the pillows, but continued to stare up into her eyes intently, not allowing his suffering to deter him from his concern for Marguerite. He ignored her anxious survey of his injuries and stuck to the subject. "Not here? What do you mean she's not here?" he wanted to know, panting a little in a combination of pain and astonishment. "She shouldn't be on her feet! I saw the raptors - "

Swiftly Veronica improvised an edited version of Roxton's guess about what had happened to send Marguerite out of the Treehouse. "She wanted to get something. Don't worry, Ned; Roxton will look after her." _At least there's no sign that he's torn any stitches open_, she realized in relief, sitting back on the chair with a heartfelt sigh.

His anxious blue eyes still searched hers, so focused on his concern over Marguerite that he barely noticed Veronica's worry over his health. "Roxton is with her?" he asked uncertainly, his brow deeply furrowed. "He let her leave the Treehouse in the shape she was in?"

The quick-thinking blonde replied evasively but as honestly as she could: "He'll bring her back safely. You know how Roxton is about her. When they're together, Marguerite's well looked after."

Ned relaxed slowly, still staring at her searchingly. Something didn't feel right. There was a hint of uneasiness in Veronica's clear blue eyes, but there was also a ring of truth in her voice that he couldn't mistake. "Yeah. Roxton won't let anything happen to Marguerite. But why would she want to leave? I'd have thought she'd be milking this for all it's worth, getting you all to wait on her hand and foot after the way she saved my life." He closed his eyes as he voiced his curiosity, fighting to weather a wave of dizziness, so he missed Veronica's instinctive grimace of regret.

By the time he opened his eyes again she was ready with another semi-authentic prevarication. "Marguerite keeps her reasons to herself," she shrugged. "She was determined to go. You know how she can be; when she makes up her mind to do something, there's no stopping her."

Ned nodded slowly. "She must have wanted to get my pack," he mused thoughtfully.

"What pack?" Veronica asked blankly. Ned hadn't been carrying a pack when Marguerite and he had arrived back at the Treehouse. Then it dawned on her - of course the handsome blond reporter had taken his pack when the pair had left that morning! In the confusion and haste surrounding their alarming return, no one had noticed one missing knapsack. Why would Marguerite go back through the jungle for Ned's pack? Had he been carrying some gems for her that she now wanted to retrieve? _If I was right after all, I'll strangle her!_

_No!_ Veronica reined in her flash of temper, reprimanding herself ruefully. _I'm doing it again, jumping to a conclusion about her motives - and why is Ned looking guilty?_

Actually, that was too mild a term to describe his uncomfortable flush as he began to tell the tale of how he'd been hurt. Ned explained that he and Marguerite had encountered a group of Zanga after they had turned back toward home with the completed survey information Challenger had requested for his latest plateau map. Jarl, Assai's husband, had been a member of the Zanga hunting party and had mentioned having seen some of those plants Veronica wanted for re-stocking one of her depleted paint colors. A few quick questions from Ned had confirmed that the site was within walking distance, though Jarl had warned them there was a dangerous area nearby and caution should be used in gathering the yellow-flowered weeds.

Veronica paled as she grasped the implication: Ned had been injured because he was trying to collect paint pigment for her! She had accused Marguerite of endangering him by searching for jewels, when all along it was his search for yellow dye that had been the root cause of Ned's injuries!

Ned didn't notice her distress, lost in his memory of the events he was relating. "As soon as the Zanga hunting party moved on I told her I wasn't returning to the Treehouse without some of those flowers for you, Veronica. I think Marguerite would have just smacked me in the back of the head and hauled me home if I hadn't been watching for her to try something like that," the battered explorer admitted. Though the consequences had nearly been disastrous, he was unable to restrain a mildly sheepish, but mostly triumphant grin at having outsmarted his canny adversary. "I wasn't going to let myself be talked out of it, even after we saw that to get to the hillside we'd have to cross an area that was full of fresh raptor tracks."

Veronica listened with compressed lips as Ned told her how Marguerite had reluctantly stood guard to cover him when her final pleas for common sense had failed. "She made a big stink about it, fought me tooth and nail to try to keep me from doing it in the first place. I was feeling pretty cocky after I managed to cross the clearing and harvest enough of the flowers to fill my pack without the least sign of trouble," he sighed ruefully. "I was almost half way back across before the predators Jarl and Marguerite were so worried about actually put in an appearance. I lost that cocky feeling pretty quick, I can tell you - it was a bigger group of raptors than either of us had ever seen before!"

The handsome young reporter had no way of knowing that the appalled look on Veronica's face wasn't dread for him but abhorrence of her own total misjudgment and mistreatment in blaming all this on Marguerite. She bowed her head, unable to meet Ned's intelligent blue eyes. _Oh, I really put my foot in it this time! Poor Marguerite! She brought Ned home after that and I treated her like dirt!_

Belatedly, Ned remembered that this exciting story didn't really reflect well on his own behavior. Determined to get it all off his chest, he doggedly pressed on, confessing shamefacedly, "I must admit it occurred to me for a second that Marguerite might not be willing to face odds like those to help me. But she not only covered me from where she was, she fought her way out into the field to get me when I went down." Awed at the memory, he shook his head as he exclaimed with honest enthusiasm, "I tell you, Veronica, I've never witnessed anything like the way she faced those blood-maddened raptors to pull me out of there! And when I realized I'd lost the knapsack and tried to go back for it after she'd rescued me, she _did_ knock me out!"

Ned couldn't help raising one hand to rub the fading bump on the back of his head, giving a rueful chuckle. "By the time I woke up, she had bound up all my wounds and was just finishing wrapping up her own. Good thing Marguerite was carrying Challenger's surveying tools in _her_ bag, or we would have lost those too," he concluded. He startled himself with an unanticipated yawn, and frowned as he realized he was feeling exhausted. He blinked hard, but found his eyelids slowly closing, cutting off the electric light gleaming softly in his room. _No, I can't fall back asleep already; there's so much I want to talk to Veronica about!_ _I have to tell her the whole thing._

Veronica shivered, miserably aware that Ned's supposition about Marguerite's goal dovetailed perfectly with Roxton's suspicion about the motive for her disappearance. _It makes perfect sense that Marguerite would go looking for something to prove to us that she didn't lead Ned into danger. Only a dreamer like Ned would have risked life and limb to get pigment plants for me. She must have known that if she could bring back Ned's pack, even I would have to believe her - whether Ned could confirm what she said or not._

"I made her promise not to tell," he revealed with a yawn, his tone becoming husky as his limited energy was rapidly depleted under the strain of making a clean breast of everything to this woman he so admired. "I wanted to surprise you with the plants. I guess the promise is why Marguerite didn't tell you the reason she wanted to go back - that, and I'm sure she knew Roxton wouldn't have let her make such a long trek just for a paint weed. He's probably going to be mad once he finds out that's what she's after, but I'm glad he's with her." Ned couldn't help yawning again any more than he could keep his eyelids from drooping wearily.

Ned blinked her back into focus. He was relieved to see that Veronica hadn't reacted with derision, as he'd more than half expected. He was also pleased that she didn't add any further scolding to the scalding denunciations Marguerite had already poured on his head for his latest exploit. The furious brunette had ranted at him from the moment he'd regained consciousness again until they'd been well along the return trail to the Treehouse. Her scathing commentary had only ceased when she'd changed her tactics to alternately coaxing and bullying him instead. Marguerite had an incredible knack for pushing all the right buttons.

Ned tried to keep his eyes open to study their blonde hostess's face, taking solace in the fact that she appeared to have accepted what he'd done without any further lecturing. _Veronica doesn't usually hold back in letting me know if I've done something stupid, and there's no doubt I acted rashly. Perhaps she understands that this time I already know my actions have been foolishly dangerous, both for me and for Marguerite. Will I ever find the right balance between being a mere observer and becoming a man of action others can respect?_ he wondered with drowsy self-derision.

Why had telling the tale left him so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open? "I know Marguerite can take care of herself, but I'd hate her to risk injury again to retrieve that pack without Roxton at her side. Sorry," his voice slurred as his body demanded more rest. "Can't seem to stay awake . . . s'not the company . . ." He managed a faint smile before he drifted to sleep again.

Veronica sat slumped motionless beside his bed, staring sorrowfully at the slumbering man as guilt and dismay consumed her. She could only hope that Marguerite's injuries had slowed her down enough for Roxton to catch up with her before she could get into more trouble than even she could handle. So much depended on exactly when Marguerite had slipped away from the Treehouse.

_She never would have left if I hadn't forced her to defend herself from my suspicions. My fear of losing Malone wasn't a good enough reason to blame the situation on Marguerite so unfairly. Why is it that every time something seems suspicious I invariably expect the worst of her? I've resented the careless manner she adopts toward others, but ever since we were stuck down in that well together I've known that it's just a façade Marguerite uses to protect herself. After all, she's not so different than I am; she's a lonely woman looking for a place she belongs, a place where she's loved. She gets scared just as I do when our loved ones are threatened, only she shows it by grumbling and fussing and pushing us away. _Startled by a thought that popped into her head, Veronica sat straight up.

"Wait!" she exclaimed in consternation. "That's what I just did to her!" Veronica gasped as she realized how loud her voice was in the quiet chamber_. Did I wake Malone? No, oh good!_ She released a relieved breath as she saw Ned was still fast asleep. Then she turned the new thought over in her mind, rising and pacing back and forth in renewed agitation. Other than Malone, for whom did she have the strongest feelings?

Irascible, unreliable, tempestuous Marguerite! The sister she'd never had! _Oh no! I acted just like Marguerite! I was scared, and I lashed out at the nearest person. I hate it when she treats me like this, and now I've done the exact same thing to her! Oh, this is not good! Now I feel worse than ever! _Veronica dropped back onto the chair beside Ned's bed and buried her face in her hands. _How am I ever going to make this up to her? _

If the hunter returned home without Marguerite, Veronica would never forgive herself. Roxton _had _to find her.

***************

The night was rough, and Roxton was extremely thankful for Kartas's continued presence and expert woodlore. The hut was basically a hunting blind, meant to serve as a camouflaged shelter with only simple amenities. But when Kartas had reinforced it for the night, he had considered the probable needs involved in caring for Marguerite. He had prepared well.

The older man proved himself an invaluable help to the harried nobleman as they worked to tend Marguerite and bring down her fever. Kartas did everything he could to enable Roxton to focus solely on his patient. The native man held her steady as Roxton cleaned and stitched the open wounds. Then Kartas quietly went about brewing up Veronica's herbal teas over the fire, keeping a supply of clean water available for Roxton to use in bathing Marguerite's brow and wounds. He also handled the heating of large stones to be wrapped in extra blankets, tucking them around Marguerite to warm her. Along with everything else, Kartas stood guard over the little camp.

Marguerite's lack of response to their efforts scared Roxton more than facing a rampaging T-Rex. The worried man's trepidation increased as time passed. Though fever ravaged her, keeping her previously chilled body constantly wracked by violent shudders, Marguerite didn't make a single sound. She no longer seemed aware of her surroundings, her eyes unfocused the few times that she actually opened them. Not once did she give any sign that she could see, hear, or recognize Roxton as he tended her.

The worst times were when John and Kartas had to clean and re-treat her wounds, which filled with infection now that they were no longer being continually rinsed out by the waterfall. Both men knew it had to be painful for the suffering woman, but there was barely any sign on her lovely face of the anguish they must be causing with their touch and ministrations, and not a whimper escaped her nearly colorless lips. This unusual behavior was positively eerie. It seemed to portend something John didn't want to contemplate.

Kartas, however, saw it differently. "She is a fit mate for a hunter such as you," the native said approvingly as they sat back after completing a third round of cleansing and then administering the medicines to her wounds. "She knows when and how to be quiet under duress. She has faced danger and trained herself not to make a move or a noise that might attract a predator or an enemy."

Although the characterization of Marguerite as being quiet at any time seemed preposterous at first, stopping to consider the idea made Roxton realize Marguerite _did_ tend to become hushed when there was danger to be faced. She might make the occasional pithy comment during battle, but only afterwards did her acerbic tongue burst forth. After mulling over the idea, he concluded that more often than not if Marguerite spoke during confrontation it was to offer a valid plan of action, to bait their foes, or simply to distract her friends and herself from worrying about the situation. The wily woman definitely knew when she should be noiseless, which would seem to confirm Kartas's assessment.

While this put a different light on Marguerite's current incredible silence and gave John plenty to think about while watching over her, it didn't relieve his concern. Her restraint might be intuitive instead of indicative of a worsening condition, but Roxton would have been happier to see Marguerite thrashing about as Malone had. At least then he would have visual proof of whether what he was doing was helping, or whether he should try something else. Instead, without feedback from Marguerite, he was second-guessing every effort, fearful that she was drifting beyond his aid.

Still, after Kartas's comment Roxton couldn't help reflecting on other occasions when Marguerite had been wounded. She had been perfectly motionless and silent, as she was now, more than once. The first time had been when she had taken that knife for young Gawain. From the moment she had passed out in her knight's arms until she had regained consciousness in the tent, she had not made a sound. It hadn't seemed odd at the time; it had only been a surprisingly normal reaction to a shock. However, her silence had definitely been a matter of concern not so long ago when she had been in that deep sleep after being impaled on spikes in the ancient temple. It had worried all of her friends as they watched how she slept on and on with that unnatural stillness.

_But later_, he recalled, straightening from his disheartened slump, _before she and George entered the ancient temple where Challenger was planning to defeat the spirits, Marguerite admitted to me that she hadn't really been asleep the whole time. _ _If she heard what I told her then without giving any sign of it, perhaps she can hear me now!_ With that encouraging thought, Roxton decided to talk to her as he had talked to Ned through that first night after Marguerite had brought the lad home.

Leaning closer to her, he addressed the issue uppermost in his mind, his soft tone full of remorse. "Marguerite, I don't know if you can hear me, and even if you can, I'm sure you'll make me say it all over again when your eyes are open. But I'm not letting another moment go by without begging your forgiveness for being such a cad back at the Treehouse." He lifted her small limp hand, pressed his lips to the palm tenderly, holding onto this precious contact with her as he quietly poured out his regret and shame. He watched her keenly as he confessed how wrong he'd been and how sorry he was, all the while hoping for some sign that she heard him even if she wouldn't accept his apologies until she had exacted retribution.

Although there was no indication he was reaching her, John remained convinced that talking to her was the best thing he could do. What other topic might break through her fevered state and draw her back from the verge of darkness? What held her interest? Gems, of course, and precious metals.

_When we found that pirate treasure, it made her the happiest I think I've ever seen her, bless her mercenary heart_, he thought with a grin. _It was as if having the treasure lifted a great weight from her shoulders_. _I think she's still miffed with us for giving everything we could find to Olmec to ransom her back_. _Well, not quite everything; there were a few of her caches that we didn't find. And then there's this. . . _Roxton patted his pocket, where Marguerite's beetle was safely stowed beside a certain sheet of paper he had taken to carrying everywhere with him. _Good thing I keep it wrapped in oilskin in case of an unexpected dowsing. Wouldn't want to lose this proof that Marguerite daydreams as I do about our future together - at least occasionally - no matter how much she may try to hide her feelings from me. Of course it still might be only my title and estates which intrigue her, but lately I've had more reason to hope otherwise. After all, she did embrace me before she went chasing after Olmec and her treasure._

In this instance, though, Marguerite's obsession with wealth might be just the ticket. Perhaps he could combine her fascination with riches together with her still-unadmitted romantic interest in him. She had expressed occasional curiosity about his financial worth, but he had always avoided giving her a straight answer. Now seemed like a good time to remedy that.

"Do you remember when you asked me about how wealthy the Roxton family is?" he began by asking, and proceeded to tell her all about his family's holdings in Great Britain. John described the properties where he and William had grown up, and where he would someday live with the woman he loved. He was aware of Kartas listening to everything impassively, only an occasional gleam in his eyes letting Roxton know that he was intrigued by these details of a life in another country.

Marguerite didn't show any more response to this soliloquy than she had to his abject apology, but John doggedly persevered. "Forewarned is forearmed, my dear, so I'd best tell you about the extended family . . ." By the time dawn approached, he had progressed to describing his travels in the Far East and Africa, the beautiful places he had seen and the people he had met.

When daylight found Marguerite still feverish and insensate, Kartas gravely advised that it would be wise to get her back to the Treehouse where there were more helping hands and medications available. Even his tribe had heard of Challenger's powerful science, and Marguerite could only benefit from the infamous wizard's knowledge. So the two men built a litter to carry their patient, packed everything up, made Marguerite as comfortable as possible and headed for the Treehouse.

***************

Challenger stepped out onto the balcony. "Still no sign of them?" he asked unnecessarily, since he knew Veronica would have come running to tell him if she had seen anything.

Veronica shook her head mutely, still scanning the jungle in the mid-morning sun. She hadn't slept a wink all night. George had argued her out of going to look for the others twice already since sunrise. Ned had fortunately continued to sleep, so she hadn't needed to dodge any more of his questions yet. She was not looking forward to telling him how she had treated Marguerite . . . and if Roxton didn't bring the wanderer home, how could she face either man again?

George placed one large hand on her bare shoulder. She glanced up at him, met his concerned look, and summoned a smile that didn't quite make it. Her face crumpled and she turned to weep against his shoulder. With an uneasy blink, he slowly patted her back and hugged her. "Hush now," he offered gruffly. "There are many perfectly logical reasons why we may not have heard from John yet. He'll be communicating any time now."

Veronica gave a watery chuckle and stepped back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand and determinedly reining in her unstable emotions. "George, you're a fraud. You know you're as worried as I am," she accused huskily.

His face creased into a tired smile as he extracted his handkerchief from his vest pocket, took her chin with a gentle hand, and patted her face dry with the square of white linen. "Of course I am, " he agreed. "But I keep reciting to myself the litany of all the odds we've survived time and again here, and I believe the probability is that Roxton and Marguerite will do the same this time. There has to be a higher purpose to the way we've all come together here, and the way we repeatedly surmount adversities. It's quite remarkable, really." Thoughtfully he tucked his damp handkerchief away, his eyes now holding the peculiar far-off glaze that bespoke preoccupation with a theory.

Veronica sniffled a little, watching him. "So you believe that they'll make it home because . . ." she hesitated, uncertain how to phrase it and hoping he had something concrete to offer.

She watched his eyes begin to gleam with enthusiasm as he completed her sentence by saying, "There is a pattern." He nodded absently to himself and turned to go back into the Treehouse, mumbling, "Yes, well - I'm still working through the probabilities and likely theses, of course, but I hope to have a cohesive theorem soon." His voice faded out as he lost himself in thought, and his stride became more purposeful as he headed for his lab to pursue his deliberations.

The odd conversation, Challenger's absorption in his theory, and his abrupt departure, were so familiar that Veronica couldn't help smiling fondly after their resident visionary. Suddenly she felt that there was more reason to be optimistic than since the moment she had looked off the balcony in response to Roxton's shout four days ago and spotted Marguerite and Ned staggering toward the fence.

She left the balcony and prepared a tray for Ned's breakfast. _Everything's going to be fine,_ she assured herself. _Roxton will bring Marguerite home any minute now, and Ned will wake up with a smile today instead of a cry of pain. Challenger will help Marguerite just as he did Ned. We'll all be back together and everything will work out._

Half an hour later she wasn't so certain.

Ned awakened much more alert than the previous day, with a corresponding increase in his journalistic instincts and curiosity. She ought to have expected it, but her thoughts had been so preoccupied with Marguerite and Roxton she had failed to prepare herself for facing the handsome newsman's recuperating powers of observation.

One question, one unguarded look of guilt, and Ned had ferreted out the truth before his young attendant could prevaricate again. Once she got started, the apprehensive blonde blurted her part in the misunderstanding without making any excuses for herself.

"You did _what_?!" Ned yelped, aghast. "How could you accuse her of such a thing?!"

Veronica hung her head, face flushed, fighting back tears again. "I know, Ned," she whispered miserably. "There's more . . ."

She didn't look up until she had finished telling him about Roxton's part in their transgression against Marguerite. Ned was staring at her blankly with his jaw dropped in utter consternation_. Marguerite must have been devastated! She cares more about what Roxton thinks than anything else, whether she'll admit it or not! I'm surprised she didn't just skin them both alive for this. But all she did was leave? Why?_ He focused abruptly on Veronica to demand more information, but when he recognized the wretchedness in her expressive face, he clamped his mouth shut and reconsidered what he'd been about to spew at her. _Words have done enough damage_, he decided with an internal sigh. _Time to start using them to mend things_.

***************

Stopping along the way to re-dress Marguerite's injuries and to make sure she had adequate liquid intake slowed their progress considerably. Other than the fact that she did swallow the water when he held the canteen to her lips, she still showed no sign of responding to anything around her. Roxton was also deeply concerned by the continuation of the violent trembling still being caused by the fever; how much longer could her delicate body sustain such trauma?

As much to allay his own fears as because he truly believed she could hear or understand, John continued his quiet one-sided conversation with the petite woman they carried. Constantly searching for topics that might engage her lively mind, it occurred to Roxton around mid-morning that learning about other cultures was one of Marguerite's interests. He had an untapped gold mine of information helping him bear his precious burden, so as they walked along John asked Kartas to tell him about his people.

Kartas obliged, and if it hadn't been for his keen awareness of the ongoing suffering Marguerite must be enduring despite her eerie silence, Roxton would have thoroughly enjoyed the discussions that resulted. It turned out that Kartas's people had made contact with a number of the same groups known to the Treehouse dwellers. Kartas knew of the Amazons and the Zanga, had met Gawain's people, and had even endured a decade-long conflict with Tribune and his lizardmen.

Roxton encouraged the broad-shouldered native hunter to elaborate about the last two. Marguerite would be eager for news of the boy king who had prompted her selfless interest. And if she could hear Kartas she was sure to be amused by any recitation where Tribune might come off the loser.

It was after noon when John finally sighted the Treehouse looming high off the ground. There was still no visible sign of improvement in Marguerite's condition, and the weary, worried hunter was deeply relieved to see Challenger running to meet them with Veronica close behind.

The Treehouse dwellers slowed slightly as they recognized Kartas, exchanging startled looks before they reached the two men and their burden. Veronica flushed uncomfortably as she greeted the native_. This must be my week for confronting my most embarrassing behaviors_, she cringed inwardly, but thanked the aloof tattooed hunter for helping Roxton bring Marguerite home to them.

Kartas bowed his head regally in acceptance of the gratitude Challenger quickly seconded, but refused their offer to stay and refresh himself. He wouldn't even go up in the elevator with them, taking leave of the other hunter with a simple clasp of hands. "I must return to my errand now, or my woman will be displeased with me." His green eyes twinkled at Roxton despite his solemn tone. "Good fortune be yours, Roxton," the older man nodded once in his brisk manner.

"Good fortune to you, too, Kartas. I am in your debt," John replied somberly.

With a smile and a casual wave of his hand that was obviously meant to dismiss any obligation, the native hunter bowed his head respectfully to Challenger and Veronica and walked away. There was a sudden shimmer in the air, and the tattooed hunter vanished.

Veronica shook her head in bemusement. "Where did you meet up with him?" she asked.

"He located Marguerite before I did, and without him I would never have found her," was the gruff reply as Roxton knelt to scoop the unconscious woman from the litter. "Challenger, I'm almost out of that powder. I hope you have more." He strode toward the elevator rapidly, the other two falling in on either side.

"I do," the scientist assured him. "Actually, I believe I have successfully processed a derivative that is even more potent. I've been testing it - Ned's made remarkable progress, considering all the blood he had lost before Marguerite brought him home." He triggered the elevator to rise as soon as they were safely aboard the lift, then started a preliminary examination of the unconscious woman by checking her pulse. "The sooner we apply the new medicine the better it will be for Marguerite, too."

"Can't be too soon for me," Roxton grunted, looking down at her with shadowed eyes and wishing the elevator would rise faster. "We've had trouble keeping her fever down, George, and she hasn't woken since late yesterday afternoon."

"Well, maybe she'll do better in her own room," Veronica suggested, gently touching Marguerite's brow to gauge her temperature now. "She's hot and shaking, but at least she's not thrashing about like Ned did. That's good, isn't it?"

As Challenger nodded his agreement that this was a good sign, the British nobleman smiled grimly. "I hope so. Let's get her to her room."

**************

Marguerite opened her eyes slowly, resisting a groan with the feeling that she was coming out of an unpleasant dream - or was she entering one? Pain. Serious discomfort, throbbing, excruciating aches everywhere. _Okay_, she wondered, _what happened?_ The last thing she was absolutely certain she could remember was the impression that Ned wasn't in very good shape even though she had managed to bring him home. Why did she feel so bloody awful?

She was in her bedroom, in her own bed, the fresh morning breeze gently blowing the curtains at her window. Why did she have the feeling that she'd been cold and wet only a moment before . . . or long ago, perhaps? Everything seemed surreal.

"Good morning."

She turned her head slowly and summoned a smile as she saw Ned at her doorway. "Malone." She was taken aback at how raspy her voice sounded, as if it hadn't been used for days. "Good to see you."

The blond-haired journalist grinned and limped down the steps to come stand at the foot of her bed. He was dressed in his normal clothing, and although she could tell he was still bandaged in at least a couple places, the limp was the only obvious outward sign that he had been injured. His complexion was almost back to his usual healthy hue and his eyes were bright and clear, though full of concern. "Good to see you, too. I hear you led Roxton quite a chase."

Her silver-green eyes flickered with puzzlement, then widened. _The knapsack! The Campies - the Amazons - the T-Rex! The waterfall!_ Marguerite tensed, hands fisting into her bedcovers. _That awful face!_ Suddenly fearful, she demanded breathlessly, "Where's Roxton?"

"Here," replied his welcome voice from the chair beside her bed, making her turn her head sharply - which hurt like the devil and caused her to suck in her breath sharply to control the pain_. _

_She's awake and she's going to be fine_, John reminded himself, staying still, resisting the urge to reach out and hold her as he watched her try to hide the result of her imprudent movement. _She won't like it if we make it too obvious that we know she's hurting._ Once he was relatively certain that her pain had subsided, he smiled enigmatically at her. "Where else would I be but at your side, m'lady?" he asked, continuing the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Marguerite stared at him doubtfully, brow furrowed. _Is any of this really real? Or am I still behind that earsplitting wall of water, only conjuring this heaven?_ To the men's mutual startled alarm, she swung her head sharply again, and though her green eyes narrowed and she hissed at the pain, she didn't let it keep her from continuing her frantic visual search of her room. She began to tremble for the first time since her fever had finally abated seven hours ago, and her grasp on the light blanket tightened with such force that she was white-knuckled. _Where is it?!_ _If I've lost the beetle how will I know if this is real or just an illusion?! Did that bloody waterfall finally take it away from me? _Her anxious gaze returned to the dark-haired hunter as she failed to see the insect. Provided John wasn't a hallucination this time, he should know. "Where's my beetle?!" she demanded urgently.

Ned blinked at the absurd question, wondering if Marguerite was feverish again.

But Roxton understood what she was looking for, even if he didn't understand why. He'd been careful to keep track of the dead bug since their escape from behind the falls, just in case she asked about it. Pleased with his insight in retaining it, the British nobleman casually dipped his fingers into his shirt pocket and draw out the small, stiff, red and blue beetle. Without changing his relaxed demeanor, he reached over and gently placed it on the low wooden table beside Marguerite's bed. "Here it is," he pointed to it blithely, though he was hoping she wasn't going to be upset when she realized it was dead. He had debated trying to find another one in case she expected it to be alive, but hadn't had time.

The brunette held her breath and stared at it intently. She closed her eyes, then opened them again to study the beetle. To the men's relief, the pale brunette finally visibly relaxed, releasing the blanket from her tight grip and looking back to the tall hunter. Her lips curved upwards as she allowed herself to drink in the sight of John sprawled easily in the chair with a book open in his lap, as if he'd been making himself right at home for quite some time. One last quick look at the beetle confirmed that it still wasn't moving, proving this wasn't just some fever-induced hallucination. _I'm really home at the Treehouse, Ned is really okay, and if Roxton is here, safe, then that face I saw must not have been an enemy after all, despite how awful it was_.

However, there was something familiar about the idea of a native with a tattooed face . . . something that tugged at her memory . . . _Ah!_ "Kartas," she said, making the connection between the distinctively marked face and the descriptions the others had given of Largo's executioner so long ago.

"You remember him?" Roxton asked, sitting up straight with interest, willing to put aside the question of the beetle's significance since she now seemed oblivious to it. _If she remembers Kartas, will she also remember all the things I've told her while she seemed feverish and unresponsive?_

Marguerite nodded - careful with the movement this time. "I think so. Did he help us?" She was beginning to blink drowsily already, though she hadn't been awake for long. She was dismayed to realize she had expended most of her apparently limited energy in needless worry.

"Yes, he helped bring you home." Roxton watched her keenly, but saw no flicker of recognition at hearing this fact. "I guess I should have warned you he was the one pulling us to shore. When you saw him, you fainted," he prompted with a sly grin, testing her alertness.

To his delight, Marguerite gave him a withering look - the effect of which was spoiled by a yawn, to the men's amusement. "Ido _not_ faint," she declared tersely, voice clear and strong though her lashes insisted on closing over her annoyed eyes.

Roxton grinned as Ned quipped, "Yup, she's getting better."

"I heard that, Malone," she murmured sleepily, drifting off. Just as they thought she had fallen asleep again her eyes flashed open. _I'm in bed! Bare feet! Where are my boots?!_ She reminded herself of the two men's watchful gaze, and forced herself to take a slow, casual look around her room, all the while trying to conceal her new worry. _They were pretty badly damaged by those Campies; what if the others decided to dispose of them? How can I explain wanting my boots back without anyone suspecting my secret?_ She couldn't lose them after so long!

When she discovered her boots were sitting in their proper place on the floor beside her trunk, she relaxed. _It's still safe!_ To keep the men from realizing she'd had a purpose to the scan, she continued to let her gaze wander about the room for another moment before saying lightly, "Good to be home."

Ned had followed her glance around the bedroom. The boots caught his eye, too, and he smiled as he remembered an idea he'd had for making partial amends with Marguerite. "Hey, I know this is probably the last thing on your mind right now," he began, turning back to the bed-ridden lady. "And I'd just go ahead and do it if Veronica wasn't insisting I couldn't, without your permission. I . . . Well, I've been wanting to do something as an apology for putting us both in danger, and I noticed your boots need to be repaired. Veronica says you'll insist on doing it yourself, but -"

Marguerite quirked a fine brow at him, and said simply, "She's right." She never refused offers of help with laundry or housework, and gladly avoided as many of the more unpleasant tasks as she reasonably could. But when it came to her boots, her gems, her tools, or a few special items secreted within her weapons belt, she preferred to maintain them herself. These things were essential to her future.

The blond American found himself flushing as she regarded him steadily with those unreadable eyes. _How does she always manage to make me feel like a gauche schoolboy?! I was only offering to help!_ Doggedly he pressed on. "I know how it bothers you if your things aren't just right, so I thought that maybe I could fix the leather for you. It's a messy job," he added persuasively. "I could save you the bother. I could work at it in right here where you could be sure I was doing it just as you like - I'd even follow your directions!"

Roxton chuckled. "Watch it, Malone," he warned playfully. "Are you sure you want to submit to such conditions? You'll regret it when she insists on having it done her way or no way!"

The brunette flashed him an irritated look, then deliberately encouraged the younger man just to get back at the handsome hunter for his jibe. "Well, I suppose it would save me getting my hands and clothes all dirty from that goop the Zanga gave us," she allowed.

Ned grinned, knowing full well that she never would have considered permitting him to touch her boots if Roxton hadn't spoken up. _How many times has he offered to polish or repair her boots, or to help clean her rocks, and she never gives him an inch!_ He glanced over at Roxton, then realized by the gleam in the dark eyes that the British nobleman had deliberately teased her so she would retaliate by accepting help. With a wink at his ally, he made his next suggestion with renewed self-confidence. "I could re-block your hat, too."

Marguerite was too tired to notice the by-play or suspect John's ploy. The struggle to keep her eyes open was getting harder, as much as she wanted to stay awake to enjoy being in her own bed and having companions again. She smiled, though, as Ned's words penetrated her increasingly foggy mind. "My hat? Oh, that's good! I thought I lost it."

Ned shook his head and limped over to the windowsill. "It's over here." He held up the bedraggled lump of felt. "Veronica washed it, but it still needs lots of work." Then he cannily suggested that Roxton should explain how he'd found it.

The hunter was glad to oblige, delighted with her genuine pleasure at learning that her hat had been recovered. He enthusiastically launched into a description of discovering it in the T-Rex footprint. Marguerite fell asleep again before John had gotten half way through the story.

The two men exchanged satisfied smiles as they watched her peaceful slumber.

The next time Marguerite awakened, only Ned was with her. He had moved her chair over near the window, taking advantage of the late afternoon sun to see as he wrote in one of his journals. Her eyes sought the shiny beetle on the nightstand. _It's right where John left it, and it's still holding perfectly still_. _Good_. Her gaze flickered to Ned curiously while she quietly tried to assess her condition. She could feel bandages on her leg, abdomen, arm and shoulder. The pain was not as intense this time, and she wasn't quite as dizzy. After a few minutes she spoke up quietly. "Writing that best-seller, Malone?"

He jumped, startled by her voice, then looked across the room with a grin. "Hey, welcome back, sleepy head! Want some herbal tea?"

Marguerite shuddered. "Tea! Absolutely not! Coffee, if you please."

Ned chuckled. "Not today, Miss Krux. Probably not tomorrow either. I doubt Challenger will let you have any for at least two days, maybe more - though I just might sneak you a bit later."

She knew she would have to be content with that, so she summoned a smile for the fair-haired man. "Wouldn't let you have any either, eh?" she surmised.

"Not a drop, and you weren't here to slip me any," Ned replied, careful to keep the tone of rebuke for her absence very light. "I missed you, Marguerite. I'm sorry I was so bull-headed about going after those plants - and even sorrier that you ended up going back for them."

The dark haired beauty started to shrug, then winced at the pain the movement caused her. _I really must be more careful how I move_. Ned leaned forward in concern, but she summoned a reassuring smile. "Don't tell anyone," she grinned impishly and continued in a conspiratorial tone, "but I've been known to be a bit bull-headed myself now and then."

Ned chuckled, appreciating that she was tactfully accepting his apology and letting him off the hook, while simultaneously avoiding any comments about the pain she was enduring. "Yeah, we're a pair, you and I." He paused, then added sheepishly, "Thanks for bringing back my pack. While you were gone Veronica was too worried to fuss at me about being such a blockhead. Now that you're home she's pretty mad at me, of course, but I think she'll use the pigment anyway."

"I should hope so, after everything we went through to get it for her!" Marguerite exclaimed, eyes widening in indignation. "I lost another perfectly good skirt and blouse for the sake of her art, so she'd better make the most of that paint weed!"

"She will. She's been in and out of here all day, hoping to talk to you." Ned's smiled. The situation had nearly proven to be tragic; Marguerite had been so near death that Veronica had cried in his arms, sure she'd never have a chance to set things right with her friend. They had all feared losing the wraith-like woman before Challenger's "new and improved" medicine had finally kicked in. The relief in the Treehouse since Marguerite had awakened this morning was almost tangible. "Seeing how Veronica and Roxton have been hovering over you, I'd say they're both blaming themselves pretty severely for letting you leave the Treehouse while you were so badly hurt," Ned confided.

One dark elegant eyebrow arched. _Ah!_ _Ned knows; Veronica must have told him that they blamed me for his injuries. Has he told them the truth about that day? He didn't specifically say so, but he must have told them, or why would he say Veronica thinks he's a blockhead? Or was that only what he's thinking she thinks? Either way, with the backpack here they have no choice but to believe me now. Blaming themselves severely, Ned said? Well, good, they deserve it_. Keeping her tone neutral, Marguerite replied, "Oh really? Well, I'll talk to either of them any time they wish."

She would have to find a moment to have a brief word with Ned, too, she reminded herself as she watched him close his journal. _This is definitely one of those little adventures that don't need to be recorded for posterity_. She barely concealed a shudder at the thought of what her former allies and foes alike would make of her gullibility in seeking to prove her honesty to the other explorers through such a foolish sentimental quest. No, Ned couldn't be allowed to publish this one. It would be best for everyone to forget it, the sooner the better.

_Of course, I'm not going to let Veronica and Roxton off the hook without seeing them do some serious groveling after the abominable way they treated me, even if some of this was my fault. _A change of topic was in order since she could see the curiosity brimming in his blue orbs and any further talking about their misadventure would only increase the chances of having to deflect a major journal entry. The pesky American was definitely feeling better; she could sense that questions about her adventures were hovering on the tip of his tongue._ Hmmm, a little redirection would be good right about now_. _Fortunately, I actually do have a question for him._ "Ned, have I been kind of . . . fading in and out?" she asked him with genuine curiosity of her own.

She had the oddest impressions running through her mind, snippets of conversations and stories. They were accompanied by a sensation of . . . well being. The fleeting memories were warm and pleasant, leaving her feeling as if she had been drifting along someplace safe and loving for a very long time. It made no sense, for when in her life had she ever been anywhere safe or loving for any appreciable length of time? But this curious experience had been strong and real enough to help her bear the most intense physical pain of her life. What could it have been?

"Well, you woke up once before when I was here, and as far as I know that's the only other time since Roxton brought you home. Why?" he asked, studying her keenly. Roxton had told them of his hope that she could hear what they were saying even if she didn't seem to be aware of them. Challenger had agreed, saying there were those who said the unconscious mind was still capable of processing input. The scientist had concurred with John's suggestion that each of them should talk to her when they took their turns sitting with her over the last day and a half. _If she did hear us talking to her, it will make a great entry in my journal_. "Do you remember being awake or aware before today?"

Seeing by the eager light in his open face that she had accidentally provoked exactly the situation she had been trying to avoid, she shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, it's probably nothing. I just wondered." A convenient movement at the doorway drew her eye, breaking the conversation before Ned could ask any more questions. He followed Marguerite's gaze to see what had caught her attention and a welcoming smile lit his visage.

Veronica was hesitating on the doorstep, cup of tea in hand, looking from Ned to Marguerite. Even as the apprehensive blonde realized Marguerite had seen her, she was obliged to step aside to allow Challenger to breeze through the doorway.

"Well, well, it's about time you woke up, young lady!" he declared, beaming as he walked up to the bedside. He took the brunette's wrist and checked her pulse, then laid a tender hand on her forehead. With a nod of approval, he stepped back. "And how are you feeling?" he asked his patient cheerfully.

"Wonderful. It's so nice and quiet here," Marguerite sighed with a satisfied smile, then intuitively realized by George's faltering grin that he thought she was making a sarcastic reference implying that she wanted them out of her room. Quickly she added, "That waterfall was so loud I honestly thought I would be permanently deaf."

"Ah! Of course!" The scientist nodded his understanding, relieved. "Yes, Roxton told us about that. You've had quite the series of adventures, haven't you?" He glanced from Veronica still hovering in the doorway, to Ned watching the two women avidly, and for once the ginger-haired man was aware of the undercurrents. "You should rest more, Ned, you've been up and about long enough for today. Come along, back to bed with you. Let Veronica give Marguerite that marvelous tea so she can get more rest, too."

Ruefully, Ned accepted George's suggestion and pulled himself to his feet. "Well, I've got my marching orders. I'll check back in with you later, Marguerite." He gave her a grin and a wink, then accepted a helping hand from the redheaded man and limped out as Veronica finally stepped in.

"I . . . have some tea for you. It will help with the pain," the blonde offered almost shyly.

Marguerite nodded. "Thanks. It's not so bad, but I appreciate the thought. My throat is kind of dry." She let Veronica fluff up her pillows so she was more elevated, then sipped at the tea the younger woman had brought for her. Both women knew that despite what she said, Marguerite was in enough pain that the jungle girl's herbal tea was needed, though of course neither mentioned it. "By the way, thanks for cleaning up my room. It must have been a lot of work," Marguerite's tone was stiff, but her glance around her freshly cleaned bedroom was appreciative. "I'm sure this was done by you, not any of the men," she added with a brief curl of her lip.

Veronica mumbled a response, unable to meet Marguerite's keen eyes more than fleetingly_. How can I ever apologize adequately for what I accused Marguerite of doing? _ She moved around the bedroom restlessly, picking things up then replacing them. After several attempts at thinking of a way to begin, she finally turned and faced the woman on the bed. "Marguerite . . . " she stopped as she saw a spasm of intense pain cross the brunette's lovely features. Quickly she returned to the bedside. "Are you all right? Shall I call Challenger back?"

"Absolutely not!" Marguerite snapped crossly, regretting the inopportunely timed momentary lapse in her self-control. She glared up at the younger woman indignantly. "Just say whatever it is you're having so much trouble saying and get it over with!"

Veronica's blue eyes narrowed. She started to snap back, then clamped her lips shut. With a visible struggle to control her own temper, she kept her tone carefully modulated as she said, "I'm trying to apologize, Marguerite!"

The other woman nodded slowly. "Because I brought Ned's pack home," she stated coldly.

"No. Actually Roxton and I were both intending to apologize before we even knew you were gone." Veronica shifted uncomfortably as she made the admission. She couldn't blame Marguerite for the disbelieving look. "That's how we found out you'd left, because we came to your room together to tell you we were sorry. We were shocked to find out that you were gone, had been gone already for a whole day, with no clue where you'd gone, and you weren't back yet -" The golden-haired beauty's voice sank remorsefully. "And we hadn't even bothered to check on you!"

Marguerite scowled, resisting the sympathy she was feeling for the distraught jungle-raised woman. _They didn't even notice I was gone?! I guess they genuinely blamed me after all. So much for it being attributable to worry over Ned._ She masked her hurt in sarcasm. "No one bothered to check on me for an entire day? Well, that's just great! As if it wasn't bad enough that you assumed I was responsible for everything and dumped on me, now I find out I could have been lying dead in my room for a day for all anyone bothered to notice! I'm getting pretty tired of being treated like a pariah and blamed for things I didn't do," she snarled in annoyance, armed folded defensively across her chest as she glared up at the other woman. _A whole bloody day?!_

"I know, and I'm sorry, Marguerite," Veronica agreed miserably, much to her sometime-nemesis's surprise and discomfort. "I don't know why I do it. I've been over and over it - I just can't understand why I seem to jump straight to the conclusion that you're doing something that will hurt others! It's not like you've given me any cause to distrust you lately - quite the opposite, in fact - but I keep treating you like you're keeping dangerous secrets and plotting to deceive us all -"

_Whoa! That's way too close to the truth!_ _Better cut this short before it goes any further_. With suddenly flushing cheeks, the brunette held up an imperious hand. "Please," she interrupted brusquely, "the truth is, Veronica, it's partly my own fault. I knew you were all worried about Ned. I was just being paranoid. You know, not thinking clearly. It was probably the fever. I'm sorry to have put you through the extra worry."

Veronica's jaw dropped. Marguerite was exonerating her, just like that?! What was going on here?!

_Too fast_, Marguerite realized. The other woman would never accept such a quick reversal without being suspicious of her motives. _Too late to take it back, the opportunity to keep her wriggling over having falsely accused me is gone. Fortunately, I have just the thing to deflect attention from her musings about my possible secrets._ With a hint of deliberate mischief entering her tone, the wily brunette forestalled Veronica's wide-eyed impending questions by adding, "Especially since I'm sure you would much rather have been free to continue focusing on Ned than to have to devote any time to worrying over me."

Veronica blushed, taken off guard by the sudden change in topic, but subtly reassured by the characteristically stinging reminder that they _hadn't_ worried about her until what could have been too late. Marguerite wasn't letting it go entirely, but she _was_ giving Veronica the benefit of the doubt - as Marguerite herself should have been given. Quickly she insisted "You're just as important to me as Ned." At the older woman's derisive snort, the blonde's face reddened even more. "So, okay, maybe not _exactly_ . . ." she admitted.

Listening in shamelessly from outside the door, Roxton grinned at Marguerite's genuine laughter. After a moment, he heard Veronica give up her indignation to chuckle, too. He relaxed. Hearing how easily Marguerite had relinquished her ire over the misunderstanding had been alarming, but this teasing was reassuringly familiar. _Oh yeah, Marguerite's feeling better_, he smiled to himself as he continued to eavesdrop on their ongoing banter. _She's going to be all right_.

Veronica emerged a few minutes later after exchanging some quiet, more general conversation with Marguerite that tapered off into companionable silence. The young woman's step was lighter than it had been in days, her blue eyes reflecting the smile that still played about her lips. When she saw the hunter waiting in the hallway, though, she gave him an apologetic look. "She's asleep again already, Roxton. She's probably going to be awake only a few minutes at a time for a couple days, like Ned was. Challenger says it's nothing to worry about," she offered reassuringly.

John nodded, straightening up from the wall he'd been leaning against. "I'll just sit with her for a while in case she wakes and wants anything," he announced nonchalantly, ears reddening slightly because he was fully aware of the fact that he wasn't fooling anyone.

Though her lips twitched, Veronica wisely refrained from commenting. Perhaps Marguerite's recent teasing about the attraction between the younger couple had made her more sympathetic to John's desire to be near the woman who seemed to be his other half. All she said was, "I'll make more tea and leave it in the cooler."

Roxton nodded. "Thanks, I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

Veronica snickered as she headed for the stairs. "She'll like the coffee Ned will probably try to smuggle into her room much more than she cares for my herbal tea."

Chuckling quietly at this truth, John stepped softly into Marguerite's bedroom and fetched the chair from the window, placing it back at the bedside. Although he tried not to make a sound, her lashes fluttered open as he seated himself. "Sorry," he whispered contritely as she blinked and smiled drowsily at him. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"I can't," she murmured plaintively. "There's a dead bug staring at me. Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not nice to leave dead bugs in a lady's room, Roxton?"

He raised a brow. "Are we talking about _your_ beetle?" he asked, amused. Apparently the beetle no longer served a purpose. He wondered if she would ever tell him why it had been so important to her.

"_That_ beetle," she parried, pointing with one finger and refusing to admit any tie to the insect. "The one _you_ put there. It had better be gone the next time I open my eyes, Lord Roxton."

He grinned and inclined his head in submission. "As you command, Your Highness."

The nickname brought a smile to her lips even as she struggled to keep her eyes open. "I should think so!" Despite a yawn, she still managed to convey haughtiness for a brief moment. Then the façade collapsed with startling abruptness. "John, thank you for coming for me," she whispered wearily. "I don't think I could have gotten out alone."

The sincere admission made him swallow hard. He leaned forward, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips to place a reverent kiss on the soft pale skin of her palm. "Didn't I promise I would never let you go?" he asked simply.

She nodded a little. "Yes, you did," she acknowledged softly. _According to Veronica, he was going to apologize before he even found out I was gone, but was she right? Or did he mean what he said to me in Ned's room that morning?_ Hesitantly, obviously troubled, she managed to force her eyes to stay open as she searched his face and asked the important question, "Do you still think I didn't look after Ned? I really did try -"

He stopped her with a gentle finger against her lips. "Hush." _Is this the real reason she's trying so hard not to let herself sleep again? Worry over my opinion? _ Heart warmed by the possibility that this was further evidence of her hidden feelings for him, he smiled tenderly down on her. "I promise you that I don't think that you failed to look after Ned, Marguerite. Honestly, I never really thought you were to blame for his injuries. I was just out of my mind with worry. I'll explain it to you later, after you've rested more -"

"William." Her whispered word took him aback.

Ruefully he shook his head, and dropped another kiss onto her palm. "You really are incredible. Yes, it was because of William. I am so sorry, Marguerite. It should never have happened; I let my memories of the past so overshadow the present, I never even realized what you were going through. You've forgiven me, then?" he asked humbly. He searched her face for any lingering trace of resentment for his treatment of her.

A glimmer of a smile tilted her rosy lips, and a familiar gleam of devilry lit Marguerite's silvery-green eyes. "Not a chance, buster! You're not getting off that lightly!"

John had to laugh. "Fine, I'll grovel to your heart's content - later. You really did do a terrific job of bringing Ned home safely, you know. I'm proud of you, and quite impressed with the woodlore you used. We have a lot to talk about when you're stronger, my dear, but right now all you have to think about is getting well. Now close those beautiful eyes and go to sleep before George comes and gives me a lecture for hindering your recovery," he urged gently.

"If you insist . . ." she whispered, a sighing purr of satisfaction escaping as he pressed a third kiss to her hand, his lips brushing her bruised knuckles this time. _Maybe I won't make him grovel too much after all_.

"I insist," he assured her firmly.

Her eyelids drooped heavily. "Well . . . just this once . . ." The dark lashes settled against her pale cheeks. "But don't get used to it . . ." her voice trailed off.

After a moment he realized she was finally sound asleep. Lord Roxton grinned wryly. Even dead tired Marguerite had managed to have the last word.

_Dead_ . . . John settled her hand tenderly on the bed, released it reluctantly, and adjusted the cover over her before he reached for the red and blue insect on her nightstand. He'd better not forget to get rid of the beetle before she woke up the next time, or she would never let him hear the end of it.

***************


End file.
